Untamed Spirit
by CelticWarriorMoon
Summary: Jesse McCree has always loved horses. His life on a remote New Mexico ranch, and his job rescuing horses in need, could not be anything less than perfect. He thinks nothing of it when Lena calls him and the others out to a notoriously cruel neighbouring ranch to rescue yet another captured mustang, but it soon turns out that this one is a little... different. Rating changed to M.
1. Chapter 1

_The night was still around him. Completely still, devoid of life. No sounds of far-off wildlife, no distant howling of a lone coyote. Not even the faintest breeze which may have brought him a trace of something, anything, familiar._

 _Nothing._

 _Nothing to remind him of from where he had come, from where he would, most likely, never return._

 _The weak, partially clouded moonlight and stinging pain in his back were, regrettably, his only companions._

 _Even sleep seemed out of the question. Restlessly, the steel-grey horse pawed the ground with a single hoof, and again pulled himself as far as he could from the solitary post to which he found himself tied._

 _It was in vain. The harsh rope of his crude headcollar only pulled itself taut, almost threatening to dig into his tender skin._

 _A low, pitiful sigh escaped his nostrils. Of course he wouldn't be relieved of his suffering so easily._

 _It had only been three days since they - whoever_ they _were - had brought him to this place, this place of torment, but to the miserable wild stallion it felt as if he had been trapped here for an eternity. The onslaught against him, against whatever shred of his former self he had carried with him, had been endless. He had thought that the round-up, and the accompanying torture of being forcibly marked as just another burden, would be the end, but alas, it was not to be. Since he had been liberated - as if "liberated" was even the right word -_ they _had sheared off his beautiful long mane, cropped his long tail, nailed heavy iron shoes to his hooves and pressed him, against his will, to obey the harsh commands of the spur and whip._

They _had, unknowingly, only made him feel... dehumanised._

 _The grey mustang sighed again, inwardly cursing himself. Why hadn't he tried to escape? Why hadn't he just taken on his human form before any of this had happened? Before he became subject to the iron will of those who saw him as just another ordinary horse?_

 _Why? Why hadn't he?_

 _Reluctantly, he paced over to the lone wooden pole. Laying his forehead against its surface, he tried to ignore the relentless twinge of the whip-scars across his back._

 _Why..._

 _He closed his eyes._

 _It was going to be a long night._

 _..._

Jesse McCree was used to horses.

He was used to the incomparable feeling, the sheer thrill, of riding on horseback. On any normal day, it was not unusual for him to find the rhythmic, even hoof beats and gentle swaying of his horse beneath the saddle to be relaxing, but tonight they seemed more... soothing than usual. As his mount continued picking its way carefully through the forested trail, he could feel the need for sleep quietly threatening to pull him under.

The cowboy yawned, and tried to force himself upright.

 _It's around here somewhere. We just need to keep goin' 'til we find it._

Still, _that_ was easier said than done when sleep threatened to pull him from the saddle...

"Jesse! Sit up straight and concentrate on the mission."

The stern order seemed to reverberate around him, as it cut through the silence. McCree hastily straightened his back, startled, and gave a sigh. Jack Morrison was a valuable companion, and one of the best ranch hands a man could wish for, but he sure was grouchy sometimes.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, stop pushing him so hard, Jack." Ana Amari, his close friend, had always cared deeply for him. Tonight was evidently no exception. McCree instantly picked up on the reassuring tone in her voice, as she chided their serious comrade. "A man is bound to feel tired so late at night, surely."

"We left at ten on the dot and haven't yet been riding for two hours," McCree heard the older man scoff. "It isn't late."

McCree only rolled his eyes. He spurred his horse onward, eager to distance himself from the bickering. As Ana once more criticised Jack, the cowboy only eased his horse into a brisker walk, almost a trot, and lightly stroked a hand down the chestnut mare's neck.

"They really are like two squabblin' children sometimes, eh, Huckleberry?" he questioned, quietly, hoping his companions wouldn't hear. The horse flicked its ears backwards, listening, before letting out a snort of acknowledgement.

McCree smiled. He could've sworn that the horse understood his every word. "Yeah, I agree. Though I have to put up with 'em, I s'pose..."

The tired American yawned again, and closed his eyes.

 _Lena's never wrong. It_ has _to be near..._

A sudden instinct in his gut prompted him to open his eyes.

It seemed his intuition was right. Their destination _was_ near. Right on top of them, in fact. Abruptly, the cowboy pulled his mount to a halt.

Through the trees, the gated arch of the small, run-down ranch could be visibly seen before them, casting an eerie silhouette against the cloudy sky.

McCree couldn't help but give a shudder.

 _Holt & Stansfield Family Ranch_.

Just reading that name was enough to make the cowboy feel nauseous. Holt & Stansfield were infamous in these parts for their treatment, or rather _mis_ treatment, of horses. All of the folks who lived and worked back on their own farmstead knew the horror stories that had come out of such a place, and to someone as caring as he, they were borderline disturbing.

And Lena had called them out here, yet _again_?

What had happened _this_ time?

McCree almost didn't want to know, but if the task at hand demanded it, so be it.

"Hey guys, I've found it. It's right here."

He turned in his saddle. His two companions, behind him, had urged their horses into a trot, eager to catch up.

"Lower your voice, Jesse. We don't want to wake anyone." Ana pulled her horse to a halt on his right, and gently placed a finger to her lips. Somewhere, far-off, McCree thought he heard a dog bark. He tensed. He sure hoped it wasn't from the property before them. Silently, he cursed himself for being so absent-minded.

The American sighed. Once again, he glanced at the menacing silhouetted arch before them. A fresh feeling of revulsion involuntarily settled itself in the pit of his stomach.  
 _  
Focus on the task, Jesse. Be strong..._

He had no choice. Pushing down the anxious knot deep inside him, he nudged his horse onward, Jack and Ana following closely behind.

"I just... let's just go in there right now an' find out what's wrong. I don' wanna leave a poor horse waitin'..."

"Neither do we," the older man responded, in a similarly concerned tone. "Let's just get the job done."

McCree only nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Halting at the battered-looking wooden gate, he swiftly dismounted, keeping a hold of the reins. To his surprise, the gate opened easily. There was no fumbling with a stiff latch, nor the loud _creak_ McCree had expected from such neglect. Nothing to give the three riders away.

He couldn't help but feel pleased, as it yawned open in front of him.

 _Now if_ that _ain't the most convenient thing._

The cowboy smiled to himself. He wasted no time in tying the reins, good and tight, to the fence post. From behind him, he heard the soft _thud_ of booted feet hitting the ground, as Jack, too, dismounted.

"You're not going in there by yourself, Jesse," he said. Leading his horse to the gate, he too firmly tethered the gelding to the post. McCree felt a stern hand come to rest on his shoulder. "It's too dangerous."

"We'll go together." McCree turned, to see Ana dismount. A look of deep concern presented itself on her face. "We never know what we're up against."

The cowboy flashed his companions a reassuring smile.

"Don' worry," he said, patting the holster strapped firmly to his side. The outline of his trusty Peacekeeper could be felt beneath his fingers, resting snugly at the ready. He rather hoped it wouldn't come to that. "I've got ya covered."

The two riders were silent, before Ana gave McCree a smile of acknowledgement. Once more placing a comforting hand upon his shoulder, she turned to Jack.

"Jack, patrol the perimeter for us," she ordered. If she was in any way as nervous as he, she certainly didn't show it. "We'll go in and find this poor horse."

The grey-haired man nodded, drawing his own gun.

"Acknowledged."

A soft pat on the shoulder was all it took to encourage McCree.

"Come on, Jesse," Ana softly said, as they bravely set foot across the threshold.

The American gave a weak smile. At least, he thought, he was not alone.

The ranch before them was not hard to navigate. To the apprehensive cowboy and the older woman, it was grimly familiar. _Too_ familiar. The enveloping stench of manure, the ramshackle buildings, the rusting pieces of abandoned farm machinery... at this stage, he knew it like the back of his hand.

A blessing and a curse.

Still, McCree couldn't shake the shiver which coursed down his spine as they both crept stealthily across the yard. It was deathly silent; even nature herself had abandoned this place.

 _This place_ really _gives me the creeps._

A sudden, though somewhat faint, sound set him on alert. Suddenly wary, his eyes darted around the ranch grounds. Was it a dog? No; it didn't sound aggressive enough. A bird, maybe? Something else? He wasn't sure. Instinctively, his right hand curled around Peacekeeper, ready for action.

"Ya hear that?" he whispered. Ana, he noticed, did not seem at all perturbed. Though her own hand was similarly positioned on her own holster, she continued striding purposefully forward.

...Was he just imagining it?

He couldn't have been. Trying to keep up with his companion's brisk pace, he turned a corner. There it was again, clearer now - a sorry-sounding snort, almost a sigh of sadness.

A horse.

A single, lonely, miserable horse.

The mere sound was enough to twist McCree's heart into feeling nothing but pity.

Quickening his step, heart now pounding in his ears, he approached the single, isolated corral behind the barn.

At first, he only saw the silhouetted figure of Ana, standing before the flimsy-looking fence. She was shaking her head, slowly, sorrowfully; her accompanying low mutter of "poor thing" only heightening his fears. He hastily walked towards her, and squinted, straining against the inky darkness. Damn it, this was why he should have remembered to bring a torch.

He could see nothing. Nothing but pitch-black night. He could have sworn the corral before him was completely empty, but he knew better; there was a reason they were here tonight.

As his eyes began to adjust to the dark, though, familiar shapes materialised out of the blackness.

A lone wooden post. A length of rope trailing from its side.

A dark grey mustang, head down, eyes closed. Looking totally, utterly defeated.

Holt & Stansfield's latest prey.

It was too dark for him to see the extent of any physical damage, if there was any, but already McCree could only imagine the torment they had put the poor animal through. He gave a sympathetic sigh.

Another soft snort, followed by a short, surprised whinny. Hearing McCree's expression of dismay, the horse raised its head, and quizzically cast a glance in his direction.

McCree froze. His breath caught in his throat. The horse was looking right at him, ears pricked.

 _He's beautiful._

The cloud had cleared somewhat since earlier, and now the cowboy had a clearer view of the animal's features. Despite its miserable state, McCree couldn't deny the beauty of the creature before him. The stocky, well-built body, the dapples on the steel-coloured coat - marred by a set of irregular and somewhat fresh-looking whip scars across the hindquarters. He winced. The cowboy's gaze then drifted over the horse's neck, only to be met with the usual BLM freeze-mark, a short, crudely-cut mane and a look of desperation in the animal's eyes.

 _Help me,_ they clearly said.

The American's heart clenched in his chest. He simply couldn't remember the last time he had seen an animal look so depressed, not in his many years of working with horses.

 _Help me._

They couldn't waste any more time.

"Ana, we've gotta help him," he softly but urgently whispered to his companion. "Come on."

His body moved faster than his mind could catch up. McCree wasted no time in rushing to the gate and sliding back the iron bolt. Perhaps _too_ hastily. He grimaced as the harsh scraping sound of metal against rusted metal rang out around them.

Damn it. They couldn't afford to mess up, not now...

"For goodness' sake, Jesse, don't be so hasty." McCree almost winced at Ana's indignant tone, as the older woman joined him in the corral. "Someone might hear us. Worse, you might frighten the poor horse."

McCree took a closer look at the tethered beast before him. His dark brown eyes had never left him, and he intently followed the cowboy's movements as he walked over to the wooden post. Ana was wrong. He seemed placid enough, McCree thought. Not in the least spooked.

"He's not frightened," McCree said, in a low voice. He believed it. Slowly, carefully, he extended a gloved hand. The horse made no movements, not even the slightest flinch; instead, he only allowed the American to gently place a hand against his sleek neck.

"Shhh... it's okay. I won't hurt you..." he soothed. The mustang felt warm beneath his hand. A pulse could be distinctly felt beating beneath the skin, too quickly. Stress, the American presumed; but not fear. "We're here to help..."

The horse exhaled a deep breath. He was remarkably calm. McCree knew that mustangs could easily grow accustomed to life with humans, but all the same, he was quite surprised. A wild animal, treated in such an appalling way, and which trusted him so readily? It was unheard of.

Still, a wild animal was a wild animal. Unpredictable, sensitive, fickle. This one, though seemingly docile, was no different; they had to be careful.

"He's a beauty, isn't he?" Ana slowly stepped over to McCree's side, and herself drank in the elegance of the animal before them. "It's a shame what some people will do to such an innocent creature."

The cowboy slowly nodded. His thoughts exactly.

"It is," he agreed, still entranced. He lightly massaged the horse's neck with his fingertips, softly at first, but then more vigorously. Glancing at the horse's face, he smiled. His eyes were half closed, and another deep sigh escaped his nostrils.

 _He likes it._

He heard Ana chuckle softly.

"He likes you."

McCree said nothing, only smiled wider. It always gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling deep within whenever an animal reacted positively to him, but this time it felt... different. Deeper. Warmer. More... wholesome.

More rewarding.

No doubt, this was going to be one of the easiest, most pleasing rescues they had undertaken in a long time.

McCree continued gingerly stroking his right hand along the mustang's soft neck, and took hold of the rope in his spare hand.

"Ana, untie him. I'll walk him out."

"Very well." With a deft hand, his companion started picking at the knotted rope, her fingers dancing against the pole as she worked to untie the intricate coils. All the cowboy could do was wait - and continue enjoying the silky, soft feel of horse beneath his hand.

He knew it wouldn't take very long. Within a minute or so, the rope was untangled, free from the post.

Great. Now all they had to do was get this horse to safety.

It would be easy, McCree hoped. At least if this horse's docile nature was anything to go by.

He heard Ana give a relieved sigh.

"There, one free horse," she said, cheerfully. "He's all yours now, Jesse."

She let out a soft chuckle. "Not that he already wasn't..."

She gestured to the animal he was now holding. Now free from his tether, the steel-grey mustang had turned his head, and now curiously nosed at McCree, eventually nestling his velvety nose in the crook of the cowboy's shoulder. He let out a loud huff, his warm breath tickling McCree.

"Hey, stop it! That tickles." McCree joined Ana in laughing. Even through the collar of his heavy serape, he could feel the moist warmth, and the unbearable ticklishness of the fine whiskers. He was confused as to why, how, the animal had taken to him quickly, so easily, but he wasn't about to complain.

It took considerably more effort than he had expected to stop his laughing. Their mission was not yet over; he couldn't afford to lose focus.

Quite reluctantly, he gently pushed the horse's nose away from his shoulder. The animal obliged, pulling away without resistance.

"Come on," McCree softly encouraged, giving a gentle tug on the rope. Turning around, he took it in his other hand, and started in the direction of the gate. Sure enough, it didn't take much for the obedient mustang to follow his lead. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had thought that, likely deprived of food or water, the animal would appear quite lethargic, but no. The taste of denied freedom was, evidently, too strong to resist. His equine partner instead moved forward with a confident stride. So confident, the cowboy almost struggled to keep pace.

He was glad, in a way. No self-respecting wild horse would have stayed under such conditions.

 _And he will no longer have to._

The deathly-still yard no longer appeared menacing as McCree and Ana retraced their steps, horse in tow. Instead, the ominous shadows and intimidating structures were almost illuminated by the pale moonlight which now filtered through the clouds. It wasn't as if it made successfully returning any easier - they still had to remain vigilant at all times - but even so, McCree was glad. Anything to lift the involuntary feeling of dread still lodged in his gut.

Back around the corner, past the dilapidated machinery, and towards the gate. It took a mere five minutes for the trio to successfully return to their starting point, where Jack attentively awaited them. Evidently, his patrol had been uneventful. Though he still wore a look of watchfulness on his aged face, he now looked considerably relieved. McCree gave a small smile, and inwardly congratulated himself on a mission well completed.

"We got him, sir." The cowboy pointed proudly to the roped grey horse behind him. "Didn' even put up a fight. He's a calm one."

A similar expression of amazement showed on the older man's face, as he took in the horse's features. Their roped mounts also seemed curious about this strange new horse, and they attentively lifted their heads to look him over.

"He doesn't look too bad," he said, a tone of relief in his voice. He had undoubtedly expected worse from Holt & Stansfield. _Then again, didn't we all,_ McCree thought, before Jack's expression grew more serious. "But you never know what they might've done. A veterinary check is still well in order."

Saying no more, the older man walked over to the open gate, slowly swung it closed again, and bolted it firmly. He untied his horse from the fence post, and swiftly vaulted into the saddle. The dark horse beneath him gave a snort, as Jack nudged him on ahead. Always liked forming the head of their ride; tonight was no different.

McCree sighed in relief. At least _that_ was done.

"It always is," Ana replied. She, too, had started freeing her own horse from its restraint, and in mere seconds she too was seated elegantly in the saddle. She turned to McCree. "We'll get Dr. Ziegler to look him over in the morning. Jesse, I'll hold him while you mount. You can hang back and lead him home."

The American nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You don't need to be so formal. 'Ana' will suffice."

McCree smirked. Force of habit, he guessed. He gave the grey horse one last pat on the neck, before handing the rope to his accomplice. The horse, despite his earlier energy, now appeared considerably fatigued; his head was drooping, his eyes half-closed.

 _Makes two of us, buddy,_ the cowboy thought to himself, yawning. Every bone in his body now ached with the raw need for sleep.

He could rest easy when they were home. They both could.

Untying his horse, and nimbly vaulting into the saddle, McCree walked his mare over to Ana and once more took control of the rescued mustang.

"He looks exhausted, poor thing," Ana said softly. McCree nodded, agreeing.

"I think we all are at this point," he replied. Another loud yawn. "But we can worry about that later."

Ana smiled at him, sympathetically.

"Indeed. Let's get going, Jack."

The two riders spurred their horses onward, leaving McCree and his new-found equine companion to bring up the rear.

He could think of worse.

Safely escorting a weary, dispirited horse to a place of refuge - a _real_ place of refuge, where he would be safe - on a peaceful night like this. Nothing but the soft breeze, the glistening moonlight, and the gentle melody of hoof beats to accompany them on their journey back home... he could think of far, _far_ worse.

Taking one more glance at the horse by his side, McCree smiled.

"Alright, buddy. Let's get ya home safe."

The ride home, mercifully, proved uneventful. Guided by the gentle sounds of countryside wildlife - sounds which had been absent from their neighbouring ranch - and the starlight of the now-clear sky, the three riders, plus mustang, arrived at their home ranch in less than an hour.

The lights in the farmhouse building were switched off. Not a single window was illuminated. Lena and Lucio would no doubt be sleeping peacefully by now, lucky things. Another deep yawn assaulted McCree's body. Man, did he wish he could be in bed right now.

Bed could wait. Their rescued horse needed rest more than he.

"Think I'll bring this tired fella to the corral," he said to the others, dismounting. His chestnut mare stood in place obediently, Ana circling back to take her. The cowboy gave the worn-out looking mustang a soft pat on the neck, prompting a content huff. "You guys go on up to the paddocks. An' take Huckleberry with ya."

Jack acknowledged McCree with a nod.

"Don't forget to fill up the water trough, and give him something to eat," he called over his shoulder, as he nudged his gelding onward. "He's probably starved, and dehydrated."

McCree nodded eagerly. "Got it."

"Good. Good night, Jesse."

"G'night."

Ana, taking his mare's reins in her hand, smiled at him.

"Make sure he's settled in nice and comfortably," she said. A look of fondness came over her features. "He seems to trust you."

She paused, taking in the sight before her. McCree glanced over at the sleepy grey horse - and found him with his eyes half-closed, head leaning against his own shoulder.

 _Poor li'l thing.  
_  
He smiled weakly.

"He does."

For some strange reason, McCree thought. Softly, he placed his hand on the velvety nose. Sure enough, there it was again, the inexplicable warm feeling he had felt earlier.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Not yet. But a niggling feeling deep within told him that it sure as hell meant... something.

Probably just affection, he supposed. Mentally, he tried to shrug it off.

"Goodnight, Jesse." Ana slowly turned her horse around, and with a snort and a swish of tail, horse and rider walked off.

"G'night." McCree smiled to himself as Huckleberry gave a disgruntled snort, before reluctantly being dragged along behind. She could be quite the stubborn rascal, sometimes; he had the scars to prove it.

Not at all like _this_ wild beast. Surprisingly.

Now left to himself, the cowboy turned his full attention towards the grey horse. He looked truly drained, poor thing. McCree placed a hand tenderly against the animal's neck, and sighed as he once more looked over his body. The freeze-mark and the moon-illuminated dapples were nothing unusual, but he couldn't help grimacing as his eyes once more fell upon the pinkish-red scars across his back. They were not fresh, and probably wouldn't even need stitching up, but nevertheless, they looked painfully raw.

 _Dr. Ziegler will be here tomorrow_ , he reminded himself. _She'll take care of 'em._

He yawned, feeling sleepier than ever. In this moment he truly sympathised with his sleepy equine companion.

"C'mon, boy," he said softly, turning and gently tugging on the rope. "Let's get you settled in."

With a quiet nicker, the mustang raised his head, and opened his eyes. He had no choice. McCree felt him walk forward, cautiously, as he led him into the round pen.

It was only when they had stopped, that McCree noticed. Something wasn't quite right. A strange quiver marked the horse's every movement. Alarmed, the cowboy looked closer.

Despite the balmy temperature expected from the late summer's night, the horse appeared to be shivering.

McCree hastily loosened the harsh rope headcollar, and with a gentle motion tugged it off. He let out a sigh of pity, bringing his hand once more to the animal's warm neck. Yep. Definitely shaking. With every breath he took, the horse's body gave a shudder.

Was it a fever? McCree ran his hand along the neck, then the chest, upper back and legs. No, it couldn't have been. There was no obvious sign of sweating, and the creature did not appear to show any other symptoms.  
 _  
He's just tired, poor fella._

Tired... and probably still afraid. Possibly quite dehydrated, too.

A fresh feeling of pity gripped at the American's heart. There was just no telling what despicable things Holt & Stansfield had done.

Without thinking, McCree unfolded his heavy red serape and tugged it off his shoulders. Gently, carefully, he settled it on the mustang's dappled back. It was the least he could do. A poor replacement for a blanket it may have been, but it was better than nothing.

"It's okay," he whispered, stroking his hand along the horse's velvety neck. "You'll be safe here. Don' be afraid..."

A soft whicker caught his attention. The horse had turned its head, and was now looking right at him. McCree cast his gaze to the horse's deep brown eyes. Though partially closed, he couldn't deny the warm intensity to them. But there was something else there, too. In the least threatening manner he could manage, he kept his eyes locked on the animal's.

He understood every word the cowboy had said. He refused to believe otherwise.

"You understand, don'tcha?"

Letting out another soft whicker, the animal looked away, and hung his head low. He closed his eyes, and let out a soft huff.

McCree smiled.

"I know. Ya just wanna sleep." He yawned. Damn it, now he really did need to get to bed, before he fell down where he stood. "So do I..."

The cowboy glanced down at the food and water troughs. _Those_ were his priority. Once this poor horse had got what he needed... only then could he sleep.

In five minutes, he could return to the house, where his warm bed awaited.

He tried not to let that thought distract him too much. Giving the tired grey horse one last pat, and giving his arms a good stretch, he set off for the feed room.

 _I sure hope he's alright out there on his own._

The same single thought filled McCree's mind over and over as he quietly let himself in the door of the large farmhouse. Ana and Jack had clearly been efficient at turning out their horses for the night. Not a single light was turned on, and the house was almost eerily quiet as he locked the door behind him.

He shook his head. Of course their rescued horse would be okay. Turning out a mustang in the round corral was standard protocol, after all. Besides, the animal had seemed all too exhausted, physically and mentally. He wouldn't try and escape. What had he got to worry about?  
 _  
You're just bein' paranoid, Jesse._

Another deep yawn racked his body as he set foot into his small, square bedroom. The moonlight outside painted the cream walls in an almost luminescent hue, and radiated off of the plain white bed sheets. Had he been more awake and alert, he would have thought it a beautiful sight.

Right now, he would not be satisfied until he got a good night's sleep.

He was too worn out to even bother properly undressing. Instead of returning his hat to its usual hook on the back of the door, he simply opted for dropping it to the floor where he stood. Instinctively, he reached for the thick coiling folds of his serape around his neck - and paused.

Of course. He'd left it with that wild horse.

McCree shrugged. The poor creature needed it more than he did.

Promptly, he resumed undressing. He could only hope that the mustang didn't accidentally trample it into the mud, not if he didn't want to spend the whole next day washing it clean.

The American let out a content sigh as he kicked off his long boots and peeled off his heavy leather chaps and trousers. Now stripped down to his underwear, he ambled over to his bed and positively flung himself down on its plush surface. The slight breeze from the open window felt pleasant against his bare skin, but he knew it would not be enough. It was just another of _those_ nights. One of those south-western summer nights where a duvet would simply be too stifling.

Even still, how relieving it was to finally curl up to sleep...

It had, no doubt, been a rough day.

But it had been worth it.

As he relaxed against his pillow, he couldn't help smiling smugly to himself. He felt... comforted.

There would be many others, he knew. But at least there was _one_ less mistreated horse in Holt & Stansfield Family Ranch.

McCree smiled, and closed his eyes.

That thought alone was enough to effortlessly send him into a deep, untroubled sleep.

 _Finally._


	2. Chapter 2

_Pain._

 _A sharp-edged, though still somewhat dull, pain throbbed under his skin - shattering his hopes for the rest he had craved since his capture._

 _Groggily, the grey stallion opened his eyes. Yes, there it was - the relentless sting of the whip scars across his back. Even the comfort given by the warm, soft fabric of the makeshift blanket against his skin couldn't lessen the unbearable sensation. He let out an annoyed huff._

 _Why couldn't he be left to peacefully_ sleep _for once?_

 _Clenching his teeth together, trying to block out the pain, the mustang looked around him, took stock of his surroundings. Checking for anything he may have missed before, anything he may have missed through his exhausted haze._

 _He appeared to be standing in a round enclosure, similar to the corral before. Unlike that of Holt & Stansfield's, however, this one was lacking any sort of restraint. There was no wooden post to be seen, and he could feel no rough rope cruelly binding him. He had considerably more freedom than he had experienced in days, no doubt._

 _Even so, a fresh feeling of panic seized him._

 _The unfamiliar people who had rescued him from that hellish place had seemed kind, gentle, caring. He had learned_

 _thatmuch. The man who brought him here in particular - the man who had gone to extra lengths to give him some form of comfort in his loneliness. But at the end of the day, they were still humans. Ordinary, non-shifter humans. Humans who, again, only saw him for the beast he was externally, and had no knowledge of the alternate form he carried within._

 _Who was he to judge? Who was he to say that they, too, wouldn't try and break him down like those he had encountered previously?_

 _How could he possibly yet know that they were to be trusted? How -_

 _An acute flare of agony through his hindquarters jolted him out of his thoughts._

 _No. Even if it was hard, he had to place his trust in them. He couldn't stand by and let the pain grow worse. Sure, he had heard his rescuers say that his scars would be looked over tomorrow, but what about until then? There was still time for something to happen, for them to uncomfortably swell, for an infection to take hold._

 _He couldn't risk it. He didn't know how he would get it this late at night, but he needed help. And fast._

 _The dark grey horse cast his eyes to the large farmhouse up the hill. All of the lights were turned out, and it did not seem as if a single soul was awake. If he could somehow get in there and find someone, anyone, to help..._

 _He risked showing them what -_

 _who- he truly was, but that did not matter right now. He'd worry about the consequences later._

 _He knew what he had to do._

Come on, Hanzo. Fight the pain, and transform yourself.

 _He closed his eyes, and intently focused._

 _He knew it wouldn't be easy._

Change.

 _The horse willed images of his alternate state into his mind. Imagined, standing in his place, a middle-aged man of medium height and strong build. Tried to imagine muscle, bone and ligaments reforming themselves, shaping themselves into a completely different creature._

 _Sure enough, it happened. Quickly, too. He felt it in his hindquarters first, a fiery tingle which snaked along his spine like a needle under skin. The agony did nothing to help the pain already present. The unbearable feeling continued heedless, his legs shifting, stretching, moulding themselves into human limbs. His face retracting, his tail shrinking, his quadruped body morphing into that of a biped. Slowly, one by one, his bones flexed and twisted themselves into shape. Muscles knotted beneath his skin, straining and contorting. He clenched his teeth more firmly, wincing as the loud_ crack _of his bones reached his ears. He would never quite get used to that._

 _It was all he could do not to let out a yell of agony. Shape-shifting was a normal part of his life, but that simple fact was never enough to save his body from feeling as if it were afire. He braced himself. Passing out from the pain was a usual occurrence, but tonight, he was determined for it not to happen. Nevertheless, he could feel the inevitable blackout coming upon him, and he knew that when it had passed, he would find himself in an exhausted, shaking heap upon the ground. As usual._

 _It didn't take long before the earth seemed to swallow him whole. His legs gave out from beneath him, his vision fading to black._

 _Mercifully, the process was brief. Before he knew it, the worst of the agonising sensation had ceased. Slowly, he opened his eyes._

 _The first thing he noticed was that he now lay, in foetal position, on the dry, lightly-grassed soil. With the excruciating pain of the shift, he had only barely registered that he had indeed collapsed. At least, he thought, he had managed to remain semi-conscious. He stretched an arm out in front of him, and carefully pulled himself up. The muscle protested with a fierce throb. He winced. There it was, the familiar ache in his bones, the strain in his muscles. He took a deep breath, then another, focusing himself. Deep breath, in, then out. Gradually, he found the strength to lift himself off the ground. He stood upright and dusted himself down._

 _The entire process had taken a mere minute. Here he, Hanzo Shimada, now stood, fully transformed. Human._

 _Human... and quite naked._

 _He sighed. If there was anything he hated about shape-shifting - well, besides the insufferable agony, of course - it_ had _to be this._

 _Thankfully, the night was mild. Apart from the lightest breeze, the air was warm around him, and he did not feel cold in the slightest. The feeling of the breeze against his bare skin and the grassy earth beneath his feet was, truthfully, one he quite enjoyed. Still, gifted with such an ability, modesty_ was _an issue. An embarrassing one, at that. His only reassurance was that no one would be awake to see him at this hour of the night._

 _Despite himself, Hanzo couldn't help but smile a little._

 _He had been denied transforming for days on end. It felt good to be human again._

 _His smile quickly vanished as the sting and throb of his injuries once more made itself present. He stiffened, inhaling a deep breath. Despite their age, they felt more sensitive and raw than ever._

 _There appeared to be something else, too - hunger. He had been deprived of food for several days on end, but in his human form the empty-bellied feeling was only amplified. A low growl escaped his stomach as he slowly walked over to the food trough. The feed put out just a few hours ago had gone practically untouched, the container still full. It had been a most kind gesture of his rescuers to provide him with food, and he would be wrong if he said he didn't appreciate their kindness. But, put bluntly, soaked hay had a bland taste; one mouthful, and he had decided against finishing. Though it was completely digestible, he could never quite force himself to enjoy the taste._

 _He reminded himself to seek out an alternative later._

 _That wasn't to say that he hadn't touched the freshly-refilled water, though. Oh no._ That _was perhaps even more of a gift in his weary, dehydrated state, and he couldn't have been more grateful. He had drank litres of the stuff, leaving behind a fraction of the original volume. The dry, parched feeling at the back of his throat had, thankfully, all but vanished._

 _Perhaps he could take another small drink, try and take the edge off his hunger just a little. He walked over to the neighbouring trough - then paused. A sudden realisation hit him like a tidal wave. He paced over to the large container, slowly. Apprehensively. Vanity was not a trait for which he was known, but he knew full well that the cruel actions of his former captors would more than leave their mark on his present form._

 _He stared into the dark depths of the container. The gentle moonlight was just bright enough to give him back a clear reflection._

 _It wasn't his own. Instead, a weary-looking man, with rings under his eyes and short, choppy dark hair stared back at him._

 _He sighed, and placed a hand quickly into the reflection, causing it to dissipate. He knew it. Grimacing, he brought his right hand to his head. A mess of dull, irregularly-cut strands could be felt beneath his fingers._

 _He shrugged. It was not important right now. It would grow out eventually. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to._

 _He needed relief._

 _Another sharp spike of agony shot through his back as he moved away from the water trough. He tried his best to ignore it. Instead, he returned to his location of shifting and bent down to the ground. The heavy red serape the cowboy had left with him earlier had been shrugged off in the shape-shifting process, and it now lay in a crumpled heap. He picked it up. He didn't know why, but somehow he felt that its owner would be most annoyed if it were to get stained with mud._

 _It appeared clean enough. Clean enough for an impromptu body covering, at least. He wrinkled his nose as he slid the thick garment over his shoulders. Okay, it_ did, _on further inspection, give off a strong, unpleasant odour of gunpowder and whiskey, but he couldn't complain. Like his kindly rescuer had said earlier, it was better than nothing. He shrugged, and folded it so it mostly covered his front._

 _He didn't even bother with the corral gate. Instead, in spite of the lingering pain, he opted for a quick over-the-fence vault. He took a few steps back. Took a deep breath, then another. Then, with all the grace and athletic prowess he had been forced to suppress, he sprinted forward, leapt into the air, and effortlessly pulled himself over the top of the railing._

 _Hanzo smirked as he landed cleanly on the other side. He still had it in him._

 _Now, he was free. Free to seek the help he so urgently required._

 _Still smiling, pulling the serape closer around his body, he walked up the hill towards the house._

 _..._

It was an unusual, muffled _tap-tap_ ping on his window which woke Jesse McCree out of his deep slumber.

 _Tap tap. Clunk. Crrreak._

 _What in tarnation...?  
_  
Groaning, McCree opened his eyes, and slowly lifted his head. His vision still blurry, he could only barely make out the time on his bedside clock. 3.15 am. He rubbed his eyes. The ache in his bones only felt worse; such a lack of sleep was not enough to relax his tired body, let alone his mind.

He flopped back down onto his pillow. Probably just an animal, or a bird, he mused. He closed his eyes once more.

 _Crrreak. Thud._

Hang on. That didn't seem right.

That was not just the sound of the usual night wildlife. Though in quite the weary state, he knew exactly what it sounded like.

A break-in.

McCree's eyes snapped wide open. A new sense of purpose flooded through his tired body. In a trice, before he even knew what he was doing, he had thrown back the covers, grabbed Peacekeeper from her place on the bedside table, and leapt from the bed.

 _Alright, now who's -_

His thoughts stopped short in their tracks.

Beneath his window, on the opposite side of the bed, stood a stranger. A stranger with short dark hair, wearing nothing but a tattered red serape which bore a startling similarity to his own.

McCree froze. The strange man was looking right at him, almost unashamedly. With a strange hesitation, the American lifted his gun and pointed it in the direction of the intruder.

"Now, I don' wanna hurt ya." His voice was calm, controlled. Surprisingly, the man did not react, did not so much as flinch at the sight of his weapon. "Jus' tell me why -"

"I am in need of assistance."

 _...What?  
_  
McCree did not expect to hear those words - much less the voice which spoke them. The stranger's voice was quite soft, yet masculine, with a moderate Japanese accent. It had a pleasing sound, truthfully. To his surprise, something about it caused his heart to stir just a little.

Whatever reason this man had for showing up here, he certainly didn't seem a threat. Slowly, McCree lowered his gun.

"...Assistance?" he asked, uncertain. "With what, exactly?"

The cowboy walked over to his bedside table and returned Peacekeeper to her resting place. The stranger did not move, though McCree could feel his gaze on him as he moved across the room. McCree turned and looked at him, intently. He was certain he had never seen him in his life, but nevertheless something about him seemed... familiar.

Though the room was quite dark, the look of discomfort on the man's face was evident. He was silent for a few more moments, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

"...I am hurt," was the eventual reply, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

McCree froze.

 _Hurt._

A stranger he may have been, but he was not going to stand by idly with an injured man in his midst.

He moved over to the stranger. Now closer, he could see the visible fatigue on his face, the gaunt look of a man who had not slept in days. Coupled with the pained grimace he was trying his hardest to bite back, it made for a pitiful picture indeed.

McCree felt his heart clench.

"Well..."

The cowboy rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, mentally searching for a solution.

He wasn't about to try and wake the others. They deserved their sleep. Seeking their advice was not an option. However, there _was_ a first-aid kit in the bathroom...

"...Why don't ya come with me, an' I'll get ya fixed up?"

McCree smiled, encouragingly. The man only narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious of his offer.

"Don' worry," he soothed, his voice hushed. "I'm not gonna hurt ya."

The stranger's expression softened somewhat. He closed his eyes, obviously trying to push away the pain. Slowly, after a few moments, he opened them, and let out a sigh.

"...Fine."

McCree gave a nod in acknowledgement.

"'Kay then, jus' follow me."

He extended a hand. The stranger made no movement to accept it. Mildly upset, the cowboy withdrew his hand, and instead started walking in the direction of the hallway.

McCree's ground-floor bedroom was mercifully right next door to their bathroom. Waking the others, sound asleep at this ungodly hour of the morning, would not be a problem. Even in the darkness, McCree didn't even fumble with the light switch; he knew its precise location by now. His fingers found it easily, and clicked it on with an impressive precision.

The American smirked, satisfied. He cast a glance over his shoulder. The bedraggled man followed closely behind him, serape wrapped around him in a seemingly futile attempt to preserve his modesty.

"Right this way." He opened the door, careful not to make any noise, and gestured inside. The stranger obligingly followed his lead. McCree shut the door behind him, and locked it.

It didn't take long for the experienced cowboy to locate the first aid kit. He had had far too much reason to use it in the past, no thanks to his stubborn Huckleberry's antics. He smiled, recalling all the fond memories, as he unlocked the medicine cabinet and lifted the kit from the shelf.

"This'll do the job," he cheerfully said, glancing at the tired man. His smile faded a little. The stranger was standing over the sink, looking intently into the mirror. McCree looked on silently as he lifted his hand to the mess of choppy dark hair atop his head, and gave the short strands a frustrated tug. Evidently, it had been much longer at one point. The American saw him grimace. His hand then moved to the left side of his neck, where he scratched at the skin with such ferocity McCree feared he would make himself bleed.

"Hey, hey." Making sure he kept his voice soft, he placed the first aid box down and stepped over to the man. "Don' do that. You'll hurt yourself."

The stranger's scratching ceased. He whipped his head around and looked the cowboy directly in the eye. There was such a startling intensity to his glare that McCree shifted on his feet, feeling more than a little unnerved.

"You would not understand," he growled. His eyes narrowed as he frowned at the cowboy. "You do not know - "

The stranger stopped himself. The faintest whine of agony escaped his lips as he closed his eyes once more. McCree didn't hesitate to ever so gently place a hand on his shoulder.

"Never mind that," he softly said. The stranger opened his eyes. The burning intensity which had startled McCree had vanished, and now all he could see was the same look of desperation he had seen in the horse's eyes the night before. "Right now, ya need help. You're hurt."

The man let out a sigh.

"Very well."

Relinquishing himself to McCree's care, the man walked over to the cowboy. McCree gave him a gentle smile. Grabbing a white fluffy towel from a nearby shelf, he folded it, cushion-like, and placed it down in front of him. There were none spare for him, regrettably, but the needs of the other man came first. He would simply have to make do with kneeling on the cold, hard tiles of the floor.

He gestured to the towel. "You can kneel on that if you'd like. 'S more comfortable."

The other man had fallen silent once more. He said nothing, only nodded in response. He lowered himself to the floor, and slowly set himself down on the plush towel, shifting around a few times, making himself comfortable. Hesitantly, he pulled the serape closer around his bedraggled form.

"Y'know, it might be easier if ya remove the serape," McCree softly said. He, too, knelt down on the tiles, behind the man. He placed a hand on the folds of the garment's neck, only for the stranger to shoot another sharp glare over his shoulder. The American removed his hand. Instead, he watched as the man lifted his own hands to the folds, parting them. As he unfolded the top, a faint white mark on the right side of the stranger's neck caught McCree's eye. A tattoo of some sort, maybe, or perhaps a scar. So _that_ was what had warranted the vicious scratching. Whatever it was, the stranger had seemed keen to rid himself of it. A flash of inked skin also caught the bright bathroom lights as the man's left arm became visible. McCree couldn't help but stare.

An impressive-looking tattoo sleeve covered the man's muscular arm. At his wrist, a fiery-maned horse threw up its head defiantly. At his shoulder, the outline of another horse's tail was barely visible. He couldn't see it from here, but McCree guessed that the inked animal curled its way towards the man's chest, coming to an end on his left pectoral. Several swirly cloud patterns also adorned the sleeve, accompanied by golden bolts of lightning.

The cowboy let out a low, soft whistle. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help but marvel.

"That's, uh... some serious ink ya got there," he said cheerfully, still entranced by the intricate design. Again, the man before him made no reply. As he hastily pulled the red garment over his head, a flash of dull crimson caught McCree's eye.

He took a deep breath.

He had bore witness to much, much worse in his lifetime - his job _was,_ at times, dangerous - but truthfully, the sight of any injury, big or small, still made him wince. This case was no different. The removal of the serape had revealed to him a set of small, yet painful-looking lacerations across the small of the man's back. McCree grimaced. The wounds did not look to be fresh, maybe a few days old at most. What little blood had escaped had visibly congealed, and luckily they did not appear to be infected. However, judging by the stranger's discomfort, they clearly still hurt.

A thorough cleaning-out and antiseptic was what they needed.

McCree didn't waste any more time. With a renewed sense of purpose, he flipped off the lid to the first-aid box and grabbed a pack of alcohol wipes. The strong pungent scent of ethanol permeated through the room as he carefully ripped open the packet.

"Do ya... do ya mind tellin' me how recent they are?" the American carefully asked. Slowly, ever so gently, he pressed his left hand to the man's lower back, steadying the area to be cleaned. The stranger's skin twitched beneath his hand. An indication of discomfort, perhaps, but he had to ignore it.

There was no reply for several long seconds. At first, McCree assumed his companion would make no answer. He was almost surprised when he heard the man's quiet reply pierce the silence.

"Three days."

The stranger's voice was subdued; broken, even. McCree couldn't help but wonder whether or not it had always been this way.

"Three days, hmm? You should consider yourself lucky that nothin's happened to 'em."

"...Perhaps."

The stranger's shoulders heaved as he let out a long sigh. The too-familiar feeling of pity once more rose within the cowboy. He paused, hand poised awkwardly over the area to be disinfected.

Three days was not long by any stretch, but even so, it was a damn miracle that the wounds were not yet infected.

"Now if ya don' mind, I'm gonna go ahead an' clean these out," he said, softly. "Might sting a bit, so just lemme know if it hurts in any way."

The stranger only nodded.

"Very well," he answered. He sighed again.

McCree also heaved out a sigh.

He never did like tending to wounds of any sort, but it was a responsibility he had to take all too often. He shrugged off his discomfort.

 _Focus, Jesse._

Steadying his right hand, he gently placed the antiseptic wipe over the largest wound.

The alcohol had barely touched the man's skin before a loud, pitiful whimper escaped him. McCree saw his back muscles tense, his skin seizing up beneath his hand.

"Shh..." McCree kept his voice low, soothing; the same as he had used with the wild horse. "I'm tryin' my best. Has to be done, 'm afraid. Jus' keep still for me."

The man sighed again. Gradually, the tension beneath the gentle American's hand lessened.

"I understand," he said quietly, the faintest hint of discomfort still tinging his voice. He straightened his back. "Keep going."

McCree smiled weakly. He was trying so hard. At least, it seemed, he was opening up.

The stranger's tenacity proved useful. The next few moments passed by easily, without fuss. More easily than the cowboy had expected, actually. His new companion was so strong, so trusting. Despite the faintest pained whines which still occasionally escaped as he cleaned out the angry wounds, McCree could tell that he was trying to remain resilient.

Resilient he may have been, but McCree really had to wonder about this man. Who _was_ he, exactly? Why was he _here_ , in his own house, at such an ungodly hour of the night? Was there a reason at all for _any_ of this?

Wiping clean the last of the reddish-pink wounds, he opened his mouth to speak, then promptly closed it. Asking any personal questions would seem unwarranted, intrusive even.

...No, he _had_ to know.

"So, uh..." McCree rose from his kneeling position and walked over to the waste bin, where he swiftly discarded the used antiseptic wipes. He carefully ran his hands under the hot tap for a few moments. "I don' believe we've been properly introduced. If ya don' mind me askin', what's your name?"

Drying his hands, he shot a smile over his shoulder. The stranger looked up at his casual statement. His mouth was set in a line, his features harsh under the bright bathroom lights. The heavy serape he had removed from his shoulders was now held firmly in his hands, at waist level, modestly concealing his lower body from McCree's view. From this angle, McCree could not deny the visible gauntness to his face and bare body. The muscle visible across his chest and arms appeared shrunken somehow, unnatural. He looked to have been strong and healthily-muscled at one point, but whatever strength he had once sustained now seemed all but gone.

The American's smile faded. The familiar feeling of pity reared its ugly head once more. Despite himself, he swore he could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes.

Just _what_ had happened to this poor man, just _who_ had hurt him in this way?

The other man let out a sigh, as he looked away from the cowboy.

"How am I to know if you can be trusted?" he asked, quietly. McCree saw his body tense. "What are your intentions?

McCree paused.

"Ya don't need to worry," he softly said. He continued walking, until he was again positioned behind the man. "I won't do anythin' with the info. I just wanna know who you are. 'S only polite."

The stranger did not look up, but the American saw him relax his posture. He took a deep breath.

"...My name is Hanzo." Like before, his voice was soft, subdued. "Hanzo Shimada."

 _"..._ Hanzo."

McCree couldn't resist testing out the name himself. He smiled. It sounded unquestionably foreign, but it rolled naturally off the tongue. It was... pleasant. Beautiful, even. He liked it.

"'S a nice name." Once more he knelt down behind his companion. He still had his head bowed, as if he were trying to memorise the pattern of the tiled floor before him. "Unusual. Traditional, is it?"

Hanzo did not lift his head. "Yes."

"...Hm. Suits ya."

He wasn't sure, but McCree could've sworn he heard the faintest breathy chuckle from the man. Could've just been another tired sigh, though. The American again intently scanned the contents of the first-aid kit, before locating the small white tube of ointment. It appeared to be down to the last dregs, but he assured himself there would be enough for this occasion. He could always get more tomorrow. Placing a pair of latex gloves over his hands, he squeezed the white salve out onto a finger.

He steadied the wounded area in his left hand. This time, Hanzo did not flinch.

"Again, jus' lemme know if this hurts ya," he calmly said, as he delicately rubbed his finger along the surface of the largest wound.

Hanzo surprised him with his calmness. Once again, if the American really _was_ causing him any discomfort, he certainly wasn't showing it. Whether that was a good thing or not, McCree wasn't sure, but it certainly helped in this instance.

In fact, he was so focused on his task that he was stunned when he heard his new companion speak up.

"You have not yet told me your name," he said.

Having gently rubbed the ointment into each sore, McCree paused. He let out a low chuckle. Of course. He had been so distracted, so fascinated, by the stranger's own name, that any introduction on his part had completely slipped his mind.

"Heh. Of course. Silly me." He carefully examined each wound. The antiseptic ointment would hopefully accelerate their healing. Satisfied, he pulled off his latex gloves. "The name's McCree. Jesse McCree. Answer to both, I don' mind."

"Jesse." The man hesitantly tested out the name on his tongue. McCree could tell he was somewhat unaccustomed to Western names. He saw Hanzo pause, then straighten himself. "Hmm. Thank you, Jesse."

McCree smiled sheepishly, walking over to the waste bin once more and discarding of his gloves.

"Shucks. Was nothin' really." He returned to his original position.

Hanzo shook his head. Again, he gave an audible sigh.

"No," he said. "Thank you for saving me."

Saving? What on earth could _that_ mean? A look of bewilderment came over McCree's face. He narrowed his eyes, carefully scrutinising the stranger.

There _was_ something familiar about him, alright, and if he didn't find out why very soon, he swore it would drive him mad.

"'M sorry." He knelt on the floor, and again turned to the kit beside him. This time, he extracted a roll of sterile gauze and medical tape. "I don' get whatcha mean."

Hanzo said nothing. Another sigh was all McCree heard from him. Slowly, he turned and looked over his left shoulder, and looked McCree deep in the eye.

The cowboy's eyes only narrowed even further. There was that strange pale mark again, the one he had had but the briefest glimpse of earlier. Now in his full view, it was almost painfully stark against the stranger's ivory skin. The pattern was strange at first glance; too regular for a scar, but too pale and muted for a tattoo. The more the confused American examined the design, however, the more it seemed hauntingly familiar.

Several white, geometric patterns, arranged in a neat line, running vertically down his neck. Alpha-numeric angles. McCree squinted, focusing intently. Deciphered, they read "Property of US Government, '63, New Mexico, 2071"...

McCree's eyes shot wide open. He let out a loud gasp. The equipment fell from his hand, landing on the tiles with a muted _thud._

 _It_ can't _be._

The mark - a freeze-mark, in all likelihood - corresponded perfectly with that of the tormented mustang he had rescued mere hours ago.

His heart leapt to his throat, pounding anxiously. His eyes flew to the array of scars on Hanzo's lower back. This _couldn't,_ just could _not_ , be a bizarre coincidence. Nobody sane would ever brand a man in such a way. He cast his gaze back to Hanzo's neck, then to the scars, then back again.

Everything matched up.

 _No way..._

He felt like he was going to be sick.

"Aaah -"

Hearing his panicked gasp, a startled look came across the stranger's features. His eyes widened, his body suddenly tense. He raised his left hand in McCree's direction as he tried frantically to ease the American's panic.

"Shh! Do not be afraid."

"It - that - _you're -_ "

A faint _creak_ of the floorboards above them reminded him of the need to be quiet. In his flurry of confused emotion, McCree hadn't realised he had been so loud. Furiously, he tried to calm himself. He paused, and took in a deep breath.

 _This can't be real._

"You're - you're that horse we rescued last night -"

"Yes," the man answered, quite calmly. "I am."

"But - but _how_ \- "

"It's okay. I know you will have some... questions." Hanzo lowered his arm. His eyes did not leave McCree's. Now, there was a calmness to be found within them, a look which seemed to say, _Stay calm, I will explain._

McCree sighed. His mind was afire, burning with question after unanswered question. He inhaled another deep breath, and released it slowly.

"How - how is any of this even _possible?_ " he began. Try as he may, he still could not curb the uneasy stutter to his voice. "Who - _what -_ are you exactly?"

He saw Hanzo shift around awkwardly.

"...I come from a long line of horse shape-shifters," he hesitantly began. His eyes narrowed. "My family before me has always been gifted with the ability to change shape at will."

McCree heard him let out yet another sigh. He closed his eyes, and turned away from the American.

"It was a dangerous secret, one which had to be kept under close guard. No one could ever know who, and _what,_ we really were."

Hanzo paused. Now calmer, McCree retrieved the forgotten gauze and tape. He dusted them off with a careful finger. Then he swiftly cut a strip large enough to cover the largest wound, and gently secured it over Hanzo's tender skin.

"Go on," he softly urged, his curiosity not yet satisfied.

"But then... something... happened."

The cowboy saw the man stiffen.

McCree simply continued with the task at hand, delicately placing another covering. "Y'know, it's okay. I understand. Ya don' have to tell me everythin', not if it makes ya uncomfortable."

Hanzo sighed again.

"Thank you."

"No problem." Deftly, the American finished his task. He leaned back, surveying his work. The treated scarlet wounds no longer showed, now concealed beneath the snowy-white gauze strips. McCree couldn't help but smile, just a little. Hanzo's was simply a story for another time, he supposed. It was early yet, and he knew how uncomfortable _he_ would feel disclosing anything personal to a stranger. His curiosity was far from sated, but he would have to leave it aside for now.

Still, he had learned enough. At least now, Hanzo did not seem such an... an _anomaly._

McCree let out a yawn. Still sleep-deprived as ever, it seemed. Between the rescue mission and _this -_ the continuation - he had not yet given his body the rest it deserved. He securely fastened the first-aid box beside him and took it in his hands. Slowly, he rose to his feet, wincing slightly at the ache in his knees. Hanzo really was lucky to have the folded bath rug beneath him. He swiftly replaced the kit, placing it on its original perch in the medicine cabinet.

"Well." He stretched his arms out in front of him, and lazily dragged his right hand through his sleep-tangled hair. He tried not to grimace as his fingers tugged out a knot. "Guess that's you, uh, patched up for now."

He smiled apologetically. "Sorry if it's rough, but I tried my best."

His new companion, without a word, rose from his mat, again throwing the cowboy's red serape around his upper body. As he did so, McCree could've sworn he saw his body shiver.

"No. It will do." Hastily, he set foot towards the door. A loud, resounding rumble emanated from his stomach. Promptly, he stopped walking.

McCree tilted his head, confused. He _had_ set out food for his starved, dehydrated mustang friend last night, he was sure of it. Proper food, for this time of year at least. How was he _still_ hungry?

He calmly approached the other man.

"Ya sound pretty hungry," he said, gently placing a hand on Hanzo's shoulder. Promptly, it was shrugged off. McCree pinned it to his side, dejectedly. "When was the last time you ate, if ya don' mind me askin'?"

Hanzo turned to face him. Briefly, he met his gaze, before once more facing the closed door.

"...I haven't eaten in three days." He let out a faint sigh, another growl of hunger closely following.

"I left food for ya last night, Hanzo," McCree said. "Ya didn't even eat that?"

Another rumble of hunger. McCree saw Hanzo place a hand over his stomach, as if he were willing away the growling.

"No." He turned to face the cowboy. "I am afraid I do not much care for hay. It tastes quite... bland."

 _Well damn._

McCree looked away in shame. He rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Well, how in the hell was I supposed to know ya weren't _really_ a horse?" he asked. "Ya looked jus' like one... I mean, until tonight I thought that shape-shifters couldn' possibly exist."

Hanzo gave a small smirk.

"It is strange if you are not used to it, I suppose." He turned away from the cowboy, and placed a hand on the door handle. "You will have to get used to it... But, please, just show me to the kitchen."

McCree smiled.

"Of course."

Between one heavy day of farm work and the next, McCree had never really had the time to consider quite how well-laid out the large house was. He had always taken the convenience of the ground floor bedroom, and its proximity to the kitchen, for granted. Tonight, it seemed, he was to be shown the true usefulness of such a design.

Closing the bathroom door quietly behind him, McCree carefully surveyed the dark hallway. He listened. No creaks in the floorboards, no footsteps from above.

 _Good._

He smiled. It would take them mere footsteps to reach the kitchen, and if they were lucky, it would be unoccupied. If they were lucky, it would not be one of those nights where Lena or Lucio had sought out a midnight snack.

"Come on, Hanzo," he whispered, walking ahead of the man. "It's this way."

Stealthily he crept into the darkened kitchen, and flicked on the light switch.

Hmm, now what food _did_ they have...

A thousand new questions suddenly sprung into McCree's mind. With his newly-acquired knowledge of Hanzo's... _interesting_ ability, he found himself wondering. What kind of food would he _not_ eat? _Could_ he not eat? Considering the man's alternate form, what _could_ he digest?

"Hmm..." McCree swiftly pulled a cupboard door open, and scanned the various shelves. Several tins, boxes and packets of varying size and shapes stood lined up neatly. It was a lot of food, yes. The others, especially Ana, would never stand for an empty food store. But just how much of it would be useful...

"If ya don' mind me askin', is there anything ya absolutely _can't_ have? Ya know, anything you wouldn' give a horse?"

He looked over his shoulder. A smile tugged on his lips. Hanzo's face, though stoic and gaunt, showed the merest spark of amusement.

"If it helps," he began, in a quiet voice, "I can, in this form, eat anything a normal human could. It is only as a horse that I can not digest meat."

He paused. So _that_ was solved. McCree returned to his task, riffling through the assortment of products.

"I would still prefer not to eat it whenever possible," he heard Hanzo continue.

McCree nodded.

"I see."

Searching the fridge, always packed full of meat products, evidently wasn't an option then. He continued nudging boxes and packets out of his way. Biscuits, rice packets, pasta, sauces... there appeared to be nothing which would satisfy Hanzo's hunger in any way. Not right now, anyway. Nothing, he could see, which could be prepared quickly and quietly.

"Hmm..."

The cowboy hastily pulled the cupboard closed, and turned, his eyes frantically scanning the small room. There had to be _something_ , anything...

The gleam of polished chrome, across the room, caught his eye. He smiled.

 _Of course._

Sometimes, moments like these simply called for some nice warm tea and toast. Not a lot, by any means. For a brief moment, McCree doubted it would be enough. Hanzo had been damn near _starved,_ after all, and who knew just how much more maltreatment he had been dealt?

It wasn't much, McCree thought to himself, as he walked across the kitchen, but it was all he could give. Besides, he didn't know anything a good old-fashioned mug of hot tea couldn't fix.

"I, um, hope it's alright if all I have to give ya is tea and toast," McCree said apologetically, as he placed two generous slices of wholemeal bread into the toaster. He set the kettle to boil, and reached for the tea cupboard above. "It's all I have for now, 'm afraid. Herbal any good to ya?"

"Yes. It will do." McCree turned. Hanzo was now standing right beside him, eyes fixed intently on the counter. McCree didn't blame him. He tapped a finger impatiently on the granite countertop - then abruptly, he stopped. The man's stomach had given yet another loud yowl of hunger, and it sent nothing but fresh pity through McCree's veins.

 _C'mon, hurry up!_

"This'll only take a few minutes," the American said to Hanzo. A _click_ from the kettle switch told him that it had boiled, and he poured out the steaming liquid into the prepared mug of herbal tea. The ensuing sweet, pungent scent of herbs which filled the room was almost enough to bring out his lingering sleepiness. He yawned, and stretched out his hands.

 _Focus on Hanzo first, Jesse. Then bed._

 _If_ he ever got back to bed.

"Why don'tcha go an' make yourself comfortable?" he said. He gestured in the direction of the adjacent dining room, Hanzo's eye's following his hand. Slowly, the tired man walked over to one of the well-cushioned dining chairs, and promptly sat down. McCree noticed a look of scrutiny form on his face. His eyes were narrow, his mouth set in a slight frown, as he examined the furniture. He only took a moment. Not wasting any more time, he simply stretched his arms across the dark surface of the table - only after he had folded the serape across his body to preserve his modesty, the cowboy noted - and laid his head against them. He closed his eyes.

McCree's heart softened. A strange feeling rose in his chest. Hanzo looked so... peaceful. In spite of all the hardship he had endured, he exuded a surprising air of grace. Despite himself, McCree couldn't help but admire his sleepy companion. Though somewhat marred by his gaunt pallor and the dark rings of exhaustion beneath his eyes, there was still an undeniable beauty to be found in his fine features. The sharp cheekbones, the soft curve of his lips, the short dark beard...

A familiar _clack_ from behind him brought him back to reality. He quickly shook his head, dispelling his thoughts. There was no time for fantasising. He turned to the counter. Hanzo's toast was ready, perfectly golden and crisp-looking. Accompanied by the herbal tea, the American only hoped it could bring some relief to his troubled companion. Retrieving a plate, he placed the warm bread on its surface and returned to Hanzo, steaming mug in his spare hand.

"Here ya go." McCree gently set both items before the resting man. The sweet scent of the tea beside him caused Hanzo to open his eyes. McCree thought he saw them light up just a little.

"Thank you." Promptly, Hanzo unfolded his arms, and eagerly pulled the plate closer to him. Not wasting any more time, he tore into the crispy bread, eating for all he was worth. Quickly, too. The cowboy couldn't tell if he even bothered to chew it properly before swallowing.

He didn't have the heart to slow him down.

Instead, he remained silent, and simply looked on as Hanzo polished off both slices. Within two minutes flat, they were reduced to crumbs. Having had his fill, the man reached for the mug of herbal tea. He left his hands on its surface, warming them, before lifting it and taking several large gulps.

McCree found himself smiling.

"That feels better now, don't it?"

Hanzo only looked at him, still intently drinking the warm tea. Clearly, he did not intend to answer. McCree swore he felt his heart skip a beat as the man's piercing brown eyes met his own. There was such a fiery intensity to them, yet also a dark undercurrent far beyond his comprehension.

Perhaps he would never understand why.

Uncomfortable once more, McCree turned his head. He ran a hand through his untidy hair, and rubbed his neck. He grimaced. There was a tension in the muscle, his fingers finding a new knot at its base.

"So," he began. He placed his hands on the table before him, and slowly turned in Hanzo's direction. The mug, now drained, had been replaced on the table. Now the other man sat upright, his hands once more clutching the red fabric of his serape across his chest. "If you ain't a full-blooded horse, what in the hell am I s'posed to feed ya?"

The other man shrugged, frowning.

"...Anything I _can_ eat, I suppose," he eventually replied. He furrowed his brow, thinking. "What do you feed the other horses?"

"Oh, ya know. The usual. Oats, flax, molasses..." McCree glanced upwards, deep in thought, then looked at Hanzo again. "Though those mightn't appeal much to ya, either... I s'pose you'd eat stuff like carrots an' apples though, would ya?"

The American saw a small frown tug at the corner of Hanzo's lips, then disappear quickly.

"Maybe." He anxiously hugged McCree's serape closer, his fingers tightly curled around its folds. " _If_ that is all you can manage."

McCree let out a soft chuckle, leaning back casually in his chair.

"Well, it's the least I can give ya. I can hardly feed ya anythin' else, not when you're a horse. Can't have the others growin' suspicious..."

He trailed off as a sudden realisation planted itself in his head.

 _Should_ he even tell the others? Would they believe him? What would they think of Hanzo then? Would they see him as an aberration, an abnormality with which they wouldn't be seen dead?

McCree frowned, casting his gaze downwards. Anxiously, he pulled at a piece of loose skin.

"...I can't let them know, can I?"

He turned slightly. He didn't dare making eye contact with the other man. From the corner of his vision, he could just make out his steady glare, his disapproval evident. McCree felt almost stifled by the thick silence which grew between them.

Hanzo sighed. The cowboy saw him rise from the table, still careful to keep a hand around his body covering.

"No," he replied, after an uncomfortable silence. With one hand, he neatly pushed the chair back into place. "Not yet. I am afraid of what others will think."

"So am I, to be fair." The American, still sitting, looked him in the eye. "But if it makes ya happy, I'll keep your little secret."

"...Very well. Thank you." With no further words, he strode past McCree's seat and headed for the doorway.

"Shouldn' be hard for ya to blend in with the other horses, anyways," McCree responded.

Hanzo paused.

"And blend in I will." He continued walking.

McCree shivered, suddenly on edge. Hanzo's statement was not threatening, but nonetheless, it had an icy, impersonal tone to it.

"Don't worry 'bout it." He gave a slightly shaky smile. "Ya can stay a horse as long as ya need to. I'll even toss a good few carrots into your feed in the mornin', jus' for you."

Hanzo only continued walking.

Inwardly, McCree sighed. Looking after the other horses was never difficult, but Hanzo... he _was_ turning out to be a horse of a different colour. Technically speaking, he wasn't even an animal at all. Even so, the cowboy could already tell Hanzo was going to be _very_ fussy about his new living conditions.

He couldn't yet be sure if that was a good thing or not.

"...Thank you." Hanzo didn't turn his head, didn't look at the American as he entered the hallway. The American watched him. He did not continue in the direction of the front door. Rather, he swiftly turned to the right, towards McCree's bedroom. Evidently, he intended to leave the way he came.

"Hanzo, wait." McCree practically jumped from his seat, as it were covered in burning coals. He rushed to the man's side. "Where are ya goin'?"

"Back to the corral. I can't risk staying."

"Yeah, guess you're right." The American scratched at the back of his neck. How nice it would've been, really, if he _could_ stay, rather than face the elements alone...

It wasn't going to happen. If Hanzo wanted his identity kept a secret, he would sure as hell keep it.

All he could do at that moment was look on, as the other man walked into his bedroom, stopping at the window. He paused, then took a few steps back. McCree saw his muscles tense.

McCree's eyes widened.

 _No._

"You're still healin'!" the cowboy exclaimed, still careful not to raise his voice. "Are you sure that-"

He didn't even have time to blink before Hanzo had launched himself at the window, pulled himself up onto its lip single-handedly, and vaulted effortlessly through the opening. Landing cleanly on his feet, too. McCree felt his jaw drop.

 _...Huh. Impressive._

 _Something_ in that wound ointment must've worked.

The cool summer breeze against his bare skin was scarcely felt, as he simply continued marvelling at Hanzo's grace. There was a refined, almost feline finesse to his every movement. Straightening his body, he simply stalked off, briskly, into the night. The cowboy couldn't help staring at his retreating back, even when he had long vanished from view.

Hanzo simply _was_ something else.

The lone hooting of an owl, distant and eerie, suddenly grounded him. McCree shook his head. Damn it, what did he think he was _doing_? He didn't need this in his life right now. Goodness knows he had enough on his plate already; with his busy life on the ranch, there was never an idle moment.

So why, just why, did a strange, warm feeling now creep through his veins?

He lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the undeniable warmth. Was he blushing? He sure hoped not. Furiously, he rubbed at his unshaven skin.

He _didn't_ need this right now. He had to ignore it. Trying his best to push down the curious feeling, he pulled himself away from the window and ambled over to his bed. Once more, he flung himself down onto its surface and pulled the quilts closer to his uncovered body. After all the... _bizarre_ events of the night, the downy sheets and plush duvet against his skin were such a relief he could've almost cried.

Finally, _finally,_ he could catch up on the sleep he had missed... or so he thought.

His mind, still rather unsatisfied, would not leave him to rest. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Hanzo's face, his appealing, _human_ face, greeted him. It did nothing to ease the confusion he still felt within. Hanzo _was_ beautiful, of course - but he was not quite _human_. Somehow, McCree felt, the sighting of his human form would be a rare occurrence. Rare, and wonderful. But it would not happen often.

He had no way of knowing if Hanzo would ever show his human side again.

The American gave a frustrated sigh. Sleep was clearly _not_ on his side. Not tonight, anyway. He opened his eyes. Flipping himself onto his back, he gazed at the gently-illuminated ceiling. The moonlight now seemed a little weaker; outside, he swore he could catch the faintest strains of birdsong.

He glanced at the bedside alarm clock. 4.15 am. Letting out a loud yawn, he again closed his eyes. He rubbed at them, irritated, with his right hand, and brought it to rest on the bridge of his nose.

As if sleep was even worth it when he would be up again at seven o'clock sharp...

He gave another sigh.

 _Seems like there ain't no rest for the wicked._


	3. Chapter 3

_Beep-beep-beep-_

A quiet groan escaped McCree. His eyelids felt as if they were leaden weight. Rolling lazily over onto his right side, just barely managing to crack an eye open, he fumbled for the alarm clock's off button. A click, and the _beep_ ing abruptly stopped.

The cowboy sighed. With considerable effort, he opened both eyes. Clear morning sun filtered through the gap in the curtains, colouring the cream walls in shades of gold. He squinted. It was far too bright for his tired state. Through his bleary-eyed vision, he could just make out the numbers 7.00 on the clock's face.

He groaned again.

 _There really ain't no rest for the wicked._

Reluctantly, he pushed back the blankets and pulled himself out of bed. Giving his arms a good stretch, he headed for the bathroom.

...

The alluring aroma of fried eggs and bacon greeted McCree as he ambled across the hallway into the kitchen. At least now, the fatigue deep within his bones seemed more subdued. It still lingered, naturally, but there wasn't anything a nice hot shower and some fresh, clean clothes - as well as his regular morning smoke, of course - couldn't fix. He smiled, entering the cosy living space. Already, he could feel his mouth watering.

He wasn't surprised to find Lena, Lucio, Ana and Jack already up and about, busying themselves with breakfast.

"Good morning, Jesse," Ana called over her shoulder, depositing a freshly-fried egg onto a plate. "Was beginning to think you would never get up."

McCree chuckled to himself.

"Certainly was an effort, tell ya that much." He gave a loud yawn, walking over to the table. Promptly, he pulled a chair free - not before he felt a familiar weight bump against his side.

"Oops! Sorry, Jesse. Did it again." Checking the contents of her plate, Lena shot the cowboy an apologetic look.

The American only rolled his eyes, but gave the slightly-built woman a good-natured smile as she continued on her way.

"'S okay."

He had lost count of the number of times Lena had made this mistake, hurrying back to her spot at the table. Truthfully, he didn't mind. Something about the Brit's enthusiasm was contagious. Miraculously, the fried egg and rashers on her plate had never once hit the floor. McCree really _did_ have to question how she had never once dropped a plate. _Yet_.

"Lena, slow down or you'll break that plate." Jack's order cut through the room, stern and unmistakable.

"Oh, leave her be, old man." McCree, brushing himself down, sat himself at the table. Lucio was busy scrolling through his phone, munching intently through a heaped bowl of Lucio-Ohs. He gave McCree a nod in greeting, before he resumed checking his daily feed.

McCree smiled to himself. A cosy family picture it would make, indeed.

"Fried egg and bacon for you too, Jesse?"

"Yes please. Sunny side up, if ya don't mind," the cowboy casually answered. He relaxed into his seat, and let out a content sigh.

He could only hope that today would go well. Hopefully, their rescued horse - Hanzo - would not mind Dr. Angela Ziegler, their local veterinarian, _too_ much.

 _Hanzo._

Like a tidal wave, the recollection hit him. The events of last night - or rather, earlier that morning - still seemed so strange, so bizarre. He had had all the visual evidence he needed at the time, sure - but even still, he could scarcely believe that the tortured mustang and the strangely handsome man he had seen in the early hours were indeed one and the same.

And nobody - not his companions, nor Dr. Ziegler - was any the wiser.

Only time would tell if that was a blessing or a curse.

McCree shook his head, trying to rid himself of any irrational thoughts. Dr. Ziegler would do nothing to harm such an innocent creature, he reminded himself.

"So! How'd you get on last night?"

Lena's cheerful question cut through his thoughts. His gaze darted in her direction. The woman now sat upright, elbows on the table, chin propped in her hands. A look of curiosity sparkled in her eyes. Lucio, too, had put aside his phone, evidently caught up to date, and now looked on expectantly. Despite himself, McCree managed another smile.

"Everythin' went just fine an' dandy, Lena. Thank ya kindly." He gratefully accepted the plate Ana now handed to him, before continuing. "The rescue wasn't hard at all. Li'l mustang put up no resistance whatsoever. Let me lead him along, just like that."

Hungrily, he tore into a rasher, placing a large forkful into his mouth. He didn't need to look at the woman across the table to see the look of amazement on her face.

"That's incredible! He must've really liked you."

"He was tired, poor thing." McCree looked over his shoulder to see Ana, plate of her own in hand, take her place beside him. "Half-starved, and dehydrated too. I'm sure he was glad to be free of that horrible place."

"Anyone would be," Jack added, accompanied by a quiet sigh. "That's what we're here for."

McCree chuckled softly.

"Am I glad."

The others only nodded in agreement before a welcome silence fell over the table. For a few moments, no words needed to be exchanged. No sounds were to be heard, save for his own hungry munching. Despite his best efforts, he found his thoughts wandering back to Hanzo. There was still so much about the man - the horse, too - that piqued his curiosity.

He would have time aplenty to wonder about things later. For now, all McCree could do was keep up the illusion of normalcy.

"So, Jesse, is it too soon to be thinking of any names?" he heard Lena pipe up, after a peaceful few moments.

McCree hastily swallowed his mouthful of food, and looked up. Plate now empty, he pushed it aside.

"Lena," he heard Jack say, "we still don't know if we're keeping him, or rehoming him, or what."

"Nah, 's alright," McCree replied. Before he could think, he casually added, "His name is Hanzo."

It took him a second to realise what he said. As soon as the name had left his lips, he regretted it. He felt his face quickly flush. Panicked, he looked around at the surprised faces of his companions. They all looked quite puzzled, confused even, at his reply.

"Hanzo? What a... strange choice of name," Ana eventually said. "Where on earth did you pull that one from, Jesse?"

He had to think quickly.

"...I dunno. He jus' looks like a Hanzo to me, I guess," the cowboy innocently replied. He gave a nervous smile.

"It's a foreign name, right?" McCree looked across the table to see Lucio hastily type something into his phone. "Definitely not American. Sounds Japanese or somethin'. Hold up a sec."

The young man scrolled for a few moments, before he again looked to McCree.

"Yep, I was right!" He smiled at the cowboy, a gesture which relaxed him considerably. "Traditional Japanese boy's name. A weird choice, but I like it! Sounds cool."

McCree's smile only grew.

"Thank ya." Now more at ease, the American leaned back in his chair. The others seated around him still wore a look of confusion, but gradually, they all relaxed.

"...Hanzo." Jack tested out the name, just as McCree himself had done the night before. "Don't know where you heard that name, but until anyone has any better ideas, I suppose we had better stick with it."

Ana nodded. "Indeed. It will do. I can think of worse."

McCree let out a quiet sigh of relief as he pushed back his chair and made to rise from his seat. At least, he thought, he had got out of _that_ hole quite easily.

He reminded himself to be more careful in future.

"Now if you don't mind, we ought to get ready. Dr. Ziegler will be here shortly." Ana rose, picking up her plate and a handful of others, which she carried back into the kitchen. "The dishes can wait. Lena, if I remember correctly, you're on washing duty tonight."

McCree couldn't help but smile at Lena's quiet groan.

"Awww, not again... alrighttt. If you say so."

With that said, the young woman rose from her seat.

"Come on!" she encouraged, the tone of eagerness audible in her voice. "I wanna see this amazing new horse."

A smile involuntarily appeared on the cowboy's face.

 _"Amazing"? Oh Lena, if only you knew how true_ that _is._

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there Leens." Lucio, too, quickly rose, in an effort to catch up with Lena. Too late. She had already dashed out the door, breakfast long forgotten. Lucio shook his head, sighing.

"Full of energy as always, huh Jesse?"

McCree only nodded. He hung back as the others followed Lucio, and readied themselves.

Having grabbed a light jacket, Lucio cast a glance over his shoulder.

"You comin' or what? Come on, show us this horse you're ravin' about."

"I'll catch up with ya. Wait for me," McCree replied, heading towards the kitchen.

The young man didn't question him. "Okay."

The American waited. The front door clicked shut. He peered into the empty hallway, double checking everyone had gone, before ducking back into the kitchen.

He couldn't forget the carrots.

Hanzo would probably never forgive him.

...

The corral was not a long walk away, and it did not take long before McCree found himself walking companionably alongside his companions once more. He gripped the pockets of his shirt, concealing the lumpy outlines of the carrots beneath his hands. In his effort to catch up, he had had no time to even think of grabbing a bag, opting instead to stuff them in his pockets. He hoped it wasn't too obvious.

With a spring in his step, he walked briskly forward. The others were almost at the pen by now. McCree could just catch the group's casual chit-chat; while Lena and Lucio enthused about an upcoming music festival, he heard Ana muse to Jack about the state in which they'd find their rescued horse.

 _That makes two of us, Ana,_ he thought to himself.

If he was completely honest, he still wasn't quite sure what to make of last night's events. Of course, he thought, if Hanzo had any sense, he would have shifted back into horse form right away after leaving the house. Act as if nothing had ever happened - "blend in", as McCree had suggested.

Would Hanzo have any memory of last night upon resuming his alternate form? Even if he did, well, would he react any differently to him? Would he have torn his bandages, undoing all McCree's hard work?

Seems he would just have to find out.

"Hey, guys! Wait up."

Hearing his call, Ana and Jack halted their step and looked over their shoulders. Lena and Lucio, heedless, only continued their conversation. They would go on ahead, McCree knew, and tend to the other horses. Not until they had themselves taken a look at this "amazing horse", of course. Ana and Jack would, in all likelihood, remain by McCree's side, ensuring his safety.

"Jesse! Thought you would have joined us sooner," Ana said. A warm smile accompanied her words.

"Well," McCree replied, "'m here now."

He patted his shirt pockets. "Thought I'd go an' chop up some carrots for the poor fella. Just as an extra treat."

Ana and Jack exchanged puzzled looks. McCree felt his smile fade somewhat.

"...You did feed him last night, didn't you?" Jack asked.

 _I did. Except he didn't eat one bite._

"Of course I did! Just, y'know, wanted to cheer him up is all."

There were a few awkward moments of silence between them. Anxiously, McCree pulled at a loose thread on his sleeve. Ana's ensuing laugh, breaking the silence, both surprised and relieved him.

"Oh, he'll really love you now."

McCree shrugged, walking on ahead.

"I s'pose."

 _Oh, Ana, if only you knew the half of it..._

His heart lifted as a familiar dappled-grey body came into view. He quickened his step.

It really _was_ as if nothing had happened at all the previous night. Hanzo, now unmistakably in horse form, stood patiently in the centre of the pen; almost, McCree couldn't help thinking, as if he were waiting for him. His head hung low, his ears pointing outwards. A telltale back hoof - now mysteriously unshod, though he thought nothing of it - faced in his direction. Even the tattered red serape, given so generously, had returned to its original position across the horse's back. McCree really had to wonder how Hanzo had even managed to replace it.

 _At least he's comfortable._

"Hey, Hanzo..."

The cowboy gave a few soft whistles, and was promptly rewarded by a lifting of the head and a friendly whinny. The horse's deep brown eyes locked with his. Like last night, McCree felt his breath taken from his body.

 _He really is beautiful._

The pale moonlight of last night had been more than enough to show off the mustang's graceful features; but in the bright sunlight, it was as if McCree were seeing him anew. Despite all the hallmarks of cruelty, the animal's true beauty still shone through. The gently-sloped muzzle, the sleek grey coat, the proud arched neck...

"Hmm. He certainly answers to it, anyway."

McCree gave a start. Entranced as he was, he had barely noticed his two older companions join his side. He shook his head. A prickling feeling of sheepishness crept up his neck, his cheeks warming. He had been caught _staring,_ damn it. He cast a glance at Lena and Lucio to his right. Thankfully, they did not seem to notice his flustered state. They too were looking Hanzo over, marvelling at his beauty. Seemed they, too, couldn't take their eyes off him.

The American fiddled with the latch to the gate. His fingers shook more than they had the right to. Annoyingly, it took him several tries to open the blasted thing.

"See?" he replied. He wasted no time in entering the small enclosed space. "He _likes_ it."

 _Don't actually know if he_ does, _but I've nothin' else to call him for now._

"Hmm. Seems to," Ana said, eventually. There was a pause, before, "Jesse, is that your favourite serape on his back?"

Grabbing the old rope halter from the fence post, McCree didn't even look over his shoulder. Instead, he moved, slowly and steadily, in the grey horse's direction. "Yep, it is. Poor thing started shiverin' just after you left. Thought I'd comfort him a little."

A smirk involuntarily appeared on his face as he remembered last night. It had turned out more useful than he would have thought. _Very_ useful, in fact.

"Hello there, Hanzo." McCree smiled as Hanzo acknowledged him with a soft whicker. The mustang turned to face McCree. It wasn't long before the cowboy felt a warm nose intently searching his pockets, snuffling contentedly.

McCree chuckled. He would never quite get over just how ticklish a horse's whiskers could be. "Yes, yes, I brought the carrots. I didn't forget."

"Careful, Jesse. This is still a wild animal, remember that."

As much as he appreciated it, he scarcely registered Ana's warning as he fished the carrot chunks out of his pockets. He had nothing to worry about. McCree heard Hanzo let out a content snort as he walked over to the (still full) food trough. He had only dropped in the carrots before the horse hungrily shoved his nose into the container.

McCree only watched, silently, as the mustang munched contentedly.

 _That was easy._

Leaving Hanzo to it, he cast a glance over the fence. Ana and Jack first, then Lena and Lucio. All had visible looks of astonishment across their faces.

"He's - I have no words." Lucio turned to the young woman beside him. "As amazing as you thought, isn't he Leens?"

McCree grinned proudly. Lena looked positively awestruck.

"Definitely!"

"I was right," Ana said. She, too, looked visibly moved at the whole scene. "He really _does_ like you, Jesse. A lot."

As if on cue, Hanzo gave a quiet snort. McCree couldn't contain his laugh.

"You hear that?" The others joined him in laughing. He couldn't resist giving the horse's neck a gentle pat. "He does."

 _...Hopefully.  
_

 _..._

It didn't take long for Dr. Ziegler to arrive. Prompt as always, McCree noted, as the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway reached his ears, signalling her arrival.

"Ah, Ana, Jack! Hello there!" McCree smiled as the vet waved cheerily at his two companions. "How have you been?"

"Just fine, Angela," Ana responded. Jack seconded with a nod of the head, repeating her words. "Thank you."

"Glad to hear it. Hello, Jesse. How are you?"

McCree flashed her a smile.

"Howdy." Casually, he saluted her with a finger-gun, ignoring the frowns from Ana and Jack. "Just dandy, thank ya."

He couldn't hold back a yawn. He was still tired, damn it, and it was all Hanzo's fault. "Still tired, though. Last night was a lot to take in."

 _No thanks to_ you, _Hanzo._ He cast his eyes to the animal beside him. Carrots now finished, he stood there, placid as ever, though he now appeared to be side-eyeing the doctor. He seemed so innocent, so normal, as if he hadn't deprived McCree of his well-earned rest.

"I see you were very successful." The vet stood quietly for a few moments. Idly, McCree stroked a hand down Hanzo's neck, feeling his soft coat beneath his fingers. "He's a fine horse. Very well-built. Such a shame how some will treat their animals, isn't it..."

Jack let out a sigh.

"It is," he said quietly. "Been trying to get old Holt & Stansfield shut down for years. Still no-one will listen. We're still the enemy as far as they're concerned."

Dr. Ziegler gave him a pat on the shoulder, before she gathered her bag of equipment and approached the gate.

"Keep fighting the good fight, Jack. Don't give up yet."

McCree kept a careful eye on Hanzo as the good doctor opened the gate and stepped into the corral. The horse appeared calm, surprisingly so for a supposedly wild beast, although his eyes intently followed Dr. Ziegler's every movement. The cowboy continued lightly stroking a hand down Hanzo's neck. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could feel the slightest tremble beneath his fingers.

"It's okay, Hanzo," he soothed. Gently, he massaged his fingers into the horse's grey coat. "She's a friend."

"...Hanzo?"

The mustang's head whipped round sharply at the sound of his name, startling McCree more than just a little. He continued stroking Hanzo's coat, praying that he wouldn't turn on Dr. Ziegler suddenly. He had been calm up until now; an aggressive horse was the last thing they both needed.

Hanzo only stared at the woman for a few moments. He seemed to examine her closely, before giving a soft huff. He blinked, and turned away. McCree let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

 _Good boy._

"Yep. That's his name, for now." The American gave Dr. Ziegler his best smile. Like his companions earlier, she too appeared momentarily puzzled. She proceeded nonetheless, fishing out a clipboard and notepaper from her bag of supplies. The starkly official whole horse exam form became visible.

"It's a strange choice for someone like you to make, Jesse," she eventually replied. She quickly scribbled down his name. "But I'll admit that it suits him."

McCree gave a nod, proudly patting the horse.

"It sure does."

A satisfied look appeared on the vet's face. "Well, we're off to a good start. He definitely seems alert and responsive. Quite the opposite to what I'd expect." She jotted down some more notes, before adding, "Now, if you wouldn't mind, would you please halter him?"

Swiftly, but with gentle hands, the cowboy slipped the old rope halter over Hanzo's face. Miraculously, the horse made no objection to wearing it once more; the slightest flinch, yes, but otherwise nothing.

"Good boy." McCree gave the horse's nose a soft rub, before taking the rope in his hands. He coaxed him into turning, so Dr. Ziegler had ease of access to his whole body. Giving him one last stroke, he stood aside. With Hanzo now carefully restrained, McCree could only pray that the examination would go well.

 _Please be good, Hanzo. Please._

"Now." The vet's kind voice was accompanied by the _slap_ of latex gloves being pulled taut over her hands. "I'll try and get this done as quickly as possible."

Inwardly, the American couldn't help but grimace as she pulled out the rectal thermometer. It was only standard procedure, he knew. Unpleasant as it seemed, there was no avoiding it. Still, despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep the thought of Hanzo's true form out of his head as Dr. Ziegler gently lifted aside his tail. Promptly, she slid the instrument into place. McCree winced.

Hanzo would have something to say about _that_ later, no doubt.

His hand quickly returned to Hanzo's nose, where he stroked his velvety skin. Surprisingly, the animal remained calm, though McCree was sure he knew _exactly_ what he was thinking in that moment. He could've even sworn he saw a frown on his equine features, if such a thing were possible. A few moments passed by, awkwardly. The vet remained silent. McCree shifted on his feet, time seemingly dragging by, before mercifully, Dr. Ziegler removed the thermometer. He couldn't hold back a quiet sigh of relief.

He could not have felt more awkward had Hanzo indeed been present in human form. Well, perhaps a _little_ more.

Still, the rest of the test couldn't be _too_ bad.

"Hmm. An average reading," the vet said, wiping off the instrument and peeling off her gloves. Again, she retrieved her clipboard and filled in the result.

Though not as objectionable as the previous step, McCree couldn't help but grimace internally as Dr. Ziegler moved her hands to the horse's mouth. Carefully, the vet peeled back Hanzo's upper lip, observing the teeth and gums beneath, before pressing a finger to his gums. For a brief second, McCree tensed, fully expecting him to bite. After a few seconds, Dr. Ziegler removed her hand, satisfied. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Capillary refill time is normal," the doctor observed. "Gums and mouth appear to be in excellent condition. By the looks of his teeth, I'd say he's not young. Possibly somewhere near thirteen years old, at the least."

Well, she wasn't wrong. McCree thought back to the last night, when he had first laid eyes on Hanzo in human form. He wasn't a young man, definitely, as was evidenced by the lines on his face and faint grey streaking his dark hair. Mentally, he added the figures. As a human, McCree would've pegged him as somewhere between thirty and forty years old. As a horse... well, the doctor's guess seemed correct.

McCree gave a small nod. "Seems right."

Dr. Ziegler gave a smile as she proceeded with her task.

The next few steps didn't take the kindly vet long at all. Effortlessly, she took Hanzo's pulse reading, and respiratory rate, noting that they too confirmed healthiness. The cowboy looked on as the vet gave the skin of the horse's neck a gentle pinch. If he was well-hydrated, McCree knew, his skin would return to normal when released. Though he half-expected a negative result, he still felt his heart sink, just slightly, as Hanzo's skin fell back into place slowly.

He cast a glance to Dr. Ziegler as she returned to her clipboard. The corner of her mouth was turned down.

"He's not the most hydrated, I must say," she noted, "but he's not the worst case I've seen. Still, you would do well to give him constant access to fresh water while he's here."

"Don't worry," McCree assured. "Wouldn't dream of takin' that from him."

He glanced over at the nearly-empty water trough. Hanzo _had_ drained most of it, true, but as he had seen last night, the cruelty of his former predicament had known no bounds. He had been without water for three whole days, after all - enough to easily dehydrate any animal.

The kind doctor nodded, before laying the form aside and resuming her work.

Dr. Ziegler truly was a blessing, McCree mused, watching almost in awe as her gentle hands wandered over Hanzo's sleek body. Just as amazing was the behaviour - or lack of - of his equine companion. Evidently of the knowledge that she was doing more good than harm, he remained perfectly still.

The movement of the doctor's hands only stopped once she reached his upper back.

"Why, McCree," she said, surprised. "If I'm not mistaken, that's your favourite serape."

The cowboy chuckled.

"It is indeed. He really was exhausted when we got 'im home last night." He himself couldn't resist rubbing a hand against the soft coat of Hanzo's neck. "Shiverin' an' everything, poor thing. Thought I'd bring him a li'l bit of comfort."

"How very kind of you." The vet slowly pulled the red fabric away. She folded it neatly, and placed it over the nearby gate. "It really is no wonder he likes you already."

A warm nose pushed against his shoulder. McCree almost jumped. He cast a glance to his side, then smiled. As if to prove the point, Hanzo now rested his muzzle up against McCree's neck, both his warm, even breaths and long whiskers again proving unbearably ticklish.

"Oh, stop it you." Laughing, he gently pushed the horse's nose aside. He was met with resistance. Stubbornly, the animal remained put.

 _Well then._

Still, he'd be damned if it weren't cute.

He was distracted by Dr. Ziegler's surprised gasp. He looked up. She was looking intently at Hanzo's upper back, especially his hindquarters. Of course. The scars. He too craned his neck, laying his eyes upon the horse's rump. The sterile white gauze remained in place, stark against the steel grey dapples. He was surprised himself. Despite applying them only the night before, he had half expected the bandages to tear during the shape-shifting process. At least, he thought, all his tender care had not been for nothing.

"...Did you do this?" The vet pointed a slim finger at Hanzo's back.

McCree paused. Damn it, he could hardly explain the real reason, not right now. He frantically racked his brains for a more acceptable answer.

"Yeah, I did." He tried not to appear nervous as he softly scratched his fingers against the horse's nose. "He's got a few small wounds. Not fresh, but I wanted to keep 'em clean an' covered until we could get hold of ya."

Dr. Ziegler nodded. "A wise decision. However, I still need to give them a look. I've got clean bandages with me, so you needn't worry."

The American felt Hanzo abruptly lift his head as the doctor peeled off the gauze strips. He gave a quiet grunt. Now exposed to the air once more, the scars were obviously giving him some discomfort.

"Shh..." Again, he rubbed a hand against his horse's sleek coat. Hanzo's eyes were now closed. Whether he was in pain or relaxed, or a combination of both, McCree couldn't tell. "It's okay."

"Hmm..." Dr. Ziegler stepped back, before she returned to her medical kit. McCree saw her retrieve a bottle of antiseptic lotion and some cotton swabs, then a roll of gauze. "You're right. Still, it's better to be safe than sorry. We don't want him to catch an infection."

The cowboy nodded.

The vet wasted no time. Swiftly, she poured a small volume of the lotion onto a cotton pad, and began gently daubing it onto the surface of the wounds. Again, the mustang gave another low, throaty noise of distress. McCree's heart twisted. It was all deja vu, really, but the soft cries of agony he had heard from Hanzo last night were not something he had wanted to relive so soon.

If the horse had had human features, he would have worn the exact pained grimace he had seen the night before.

"Easy there, Hanzo," he soothed. He glanced over at the doctor. Mercifully, she appeared finished. She now busily cut and placed fresh strips over each wound, securing them tightly with the appropriate tape. "She's almost done."

Now done, the vet looked at Hanzo with a similar fond expression on her face. "He's so good. So well-behaved. Are you sure he was even a _wild_ horse?"

Well, not exactly, but "horse shape-shifter" was hardly going to cut it here. McCree wasn't sure if it could be considered a breed. Did Hanzo even _have_ a breed? He examined him closely. His features, though considerably more unique than those he had encountered before, suggested more American mustang than anything else, but how was he to know? Shape-shifters were definitely not his area of expertise; he had never even considered them _real_ before last night, for goodness' sake. While it was quite possible Hanzo was one hundred percent pure mustang, there was still the possibility that he was a mongrel; just a plain old _horse._ A unique one, at that.

 _Very_ unique.

"Well yeah, I presume so." McCree shrugged. He glanced up at the animal's neck. The white freeze-mark stood starkly against the grey coat in the bright sunlight. "He has the BLM brand, so there's nothin' else he can be."

Dr. Ziegler simply gave a small shrug, and continued running her hands across Hanzo's abdomen, moving from belly to rump. Carefully, she avoided the fresh bandages. Her hands then moved to the horse's dark leg. Stroking down his left foreleg, she carefully felt his hocks and tendons.

Nothing unusual about that, McCree thought. That was, until she got to the hoof. Obligingly, the horse lifted his hoof with minimal effort - and drew another gasp from the kind vet.

"McCree, he's not shod."

 _Wait, what?_

Lead rope still in hand, he couldn't resist ducking his head and taking a look. Yep, the doctor was right. A bare hoof wall faced him, no horseshoe in sight.

...Strange. He hadn't been looking closely last night, but even still, he could've sworn that the horse's hooves had been shod. Holt & Stansfield would hardly _not_ do such a thing. Not if they wanted to harshly bend a horse to their iron will like they so often did. But, even if Hanzo's hooves _had_ indeed carried shoes at one point... there was no trace of them to be found anywhere. None at all. Where had they gone?

Shape-shifting truly _was_ a baffling business, indeed.

"Huh. That's strange." McCree tried to sound innocent. Frowning ever so slightly, though presumably in disbelief more than anything else, Dr. Ziegler fished a small hoof pick from her pocket. She made no further reply. Taking care to be gentle, she began to remove any stray packed dirt. The American felt Hanzo shift around slightly.

Hanzo's hooves, it seemed, were almost spotless. It didn't take long before the vet proceeded to examine the horse's other legs, front and hind. Each yielded a positive response. Dr. Ziegler smiled in satisfaction, before returning to the form she had laid aside.

"There are no problems with his legs and feet. All are in very good condition," she said, writing down her results. "However, I will need you to walk him around."

She returned to her bag, and pulled out a long stethoscope. "Firstly, though, let me listen to his heart and gut."

The cold metal of the stethoscope against his skin caused the mustang to flinch beneath McCree's hold. Idly, as he looked on, McCree stroked Hanzo's velvety nose. Dr. Ziegler placed the instrument against his flank, several times, before repeating the process on his right side. The American waited for several long moments, before the doctor once more recorded her findings.

"No irregular heartbeat," she noted with a smile, "and no abnormal rumbling in the gut. All seems normal so far."

The vet placed the instrument back into her bag, then moved to Hanzo's head. McCree stepped aside to let her observe his eyes and nose. Again, as she moved her delicate hands to the horse's face, McCree felt the familiar fear rise in his gut. What if, this time, Hanzo really _did_ try and attack? There was no way of knowing what his captors had done, just how rough they had been with their charge.

Thankfully, Hanzo remained calm beneath her touch. After a few minutes, Dr. Ziegler removed her hands.

"Head, face and throat are all normal. Eyes are healthy-looking. I would say they're even quite expressive."

McCree gave a chuckle. "They are indeed."

He looked into Hanzo's deep brown eyes for a moment. Again, he almost felt his breath taken from his body. Damn, if she wasn't right about _that._ Involuntarily, the image of Hanzo's intense stare, under the bright bathroom lights, returned to his mind. He had seen such fire, such power, within them; though broken, this was a man whose fire would not go out.

Hmm. If only she knew _quite_ how expressive this horse could be.

"I see."

Wordlessly, the doctor returned to her form. After scribbling down some more notes, she again placed her hands against Hanzo's sleek neck. They wandered up to his choppy mane, where careful fingers ran through the short strands. McCree wasn't sure, but he thought he felt the mustang tense slightly. Unpleasant memories, presumably. Mercifully, the vet then removed her hand and placed it instead over his belly and flank. With both hands, she thoroughly assessed the condition of his coat and skin, taking her time to feel for any abnormalities.

All well and good - until the horse reared his head. McCree gave a start. A high-pitched squeal escaped the horse's mouth, as he whipped his head around. His ears were pinned dangerously flat-back. The cowboy's grip on the rope tightened, as he struggled to pull Hanzo back into place.

He was positively glaring at the doctor. McCree peeked around the edge of his face, not at all that surprised when he discovered the reason.

Again, to a horse who was not _quite_ a horse at heart, it seemed an inconvenience; a discomfort, more than anything else. But, like the unpleasantness of the rectal thermometer, assessing the look and feel of the animal's sheath was just another formality, another routine procedure. Nevertheless, McCree again felt his cheeks warming.

 _Now_ there could be no doubt that, upon returning to human form, Hanzo would look back on this experience with disdain. However badly he had felt earlier, by now he must've felt positively _violated_.

"Easy there." Again, he gave a gentle tug on the rope. This time, the mustang turned to his original position. McCree gave the side of his nose a gentle scratch. Hanzo's eyes were closed, his entire body now tensed, as he awaited the doctor to finish.

McCree let out a sigh of relief as he felt the animal relax slightly beneath his hold. He still appeared slightly apprehensive as Dr. Ziegler moved to his tail, where she lightly lifted it and stroked a hand down its length. He let out a long, drawn-out huff. Again, McCree couldn't help but presume that bad memories were to blame. Nevertheless, despite his apparent nervousness, the horse remained perfectly still as Dr. Ziegler continued running both hands over his right side, back to belly, flank to shoulder to neck.

McCree saw her give a gentle smile as she returned to the exam form.

"Overall, his condition is normal," she said. "No signs of swelling, pain or heat at all. With the right care, you'll have a healthy horse in no time."

Her expression grew more serious, before she continued.

"While we're on that note, it might be advisable to have him gelded-"

McCree and Hanzo seemed to recoil in unison. The mustang gave an angry grunt, once more giving the vet a dirty look. Well, the equine equivalent of one. Again, McCree grimaced at the thought.

If she knew, if she _really_ knew... she would think twice before suggesting such a thing.

Hanzo would _certainly_ neverforgive him for _that_ one.

Trying his best to bury his look of discomfort, he cast an uneasy glance at Dr. Ziegler. It was the first time he had ever seen her look so nervous around a horse. Under Hanzo's harsh glare, she looked positively unnerved; scared, even. Hastily, in a distracted manner, she wiped her hands on her jacket, and looked away.

McCree's expression softened. "...Ang, I don't think that's the best idea."

The vet gave a sigh, scanning the form.

"Well, maybe not for now," she quietly said, without looking up. "If that's really how you feel, then that's fine. I understand not everyone favours the idea. But I must warn you, if you leave him be, he might turn out quite the handful."

Oh, if she only _knew._ McCree couldn't help but give a chuckle.

"'M aware," he replied. "Just... I'd rather see how things turn out with 'im as is before makin' that decision."

He gave Hanzo's neck a confident pat. Reassured by his answer, the grey horse lowered his head and returned to his normal position. He blew a soft snort through his nostrils, apparently satisfied with McCree's answer.

"Very well." Dr. Ziegler sighed once more. "But you can not say that I didn't warn you. I can already see he's got quite the attitude. You're taking a very big risk."

There was a pause.

"Still, on the whole, he's remarkably docile," she continued. "You should hopefully have nothing to worry about, as long as he remains that way."

She glanced down at the form. "Now, let me examine his movement."

The vet stood back as, gently, McCree pulled the horse into position behind him. Clicking his tongue, he coaxed him into a moderate walk. Like last night, Hanzo obediently followed. Like last night, too, his stride was confident, purposeful; graceful, even. McCree found himself both in awe and incredibly calmed by the gentle harmony of his hoofbeats, as they matched with his own brisk stride.

Once, then twice for good measure, McCree walked the horse around the edges of the small corral, before returning to the vet's side.

"Well?" he cheerfully asked her.

Dr. Ziegler, smiling, jotted down her observations.

"He moves wonderfully, McCree. No signs of lameness or stiffness at all. He's perfectly healthy."

She carefully deposited the clipboard back into her bag. "Just make sure he stays that way. Of course, he'll also need need the regular doses of anti-wormer and yearly vaccinations, but that can easily be arranged for a later date. Re-shoeing might also be a good idea to consider."

"Of course." McCree gave a broad smile. "Ain't nothin' I wouldn't do for a horse in need."

"Glad to hear it."

Double-checking she had put everything away, Dr. Ziegler shouldered her bag and went to the gate. McCree, Hanzo's rope still in hand, stepped forward and swung it open. He extended his arm.

"After you."

He just barely picked up on the quiet laugh she gave as she exited the pen. "Thank you, McCree. Ever the gentleman."

McCree couldn't help but chuckle. "No problem. Take care, Ang."

He carefully swung the gate shut, watching Dr. Ziegler's back vanish from view as she made her way back to her Jeep on the front drive.

"Have a good afternoon, Jesse, Ana, Jack." She stopped momentarily, and waved. "I'll be back soon. Just let me know when Hanzo's more settled in, and then we can schedule another appointment."

McCree saw both his friends smile.

"He should be comfortable soon enough," Ana said. She fondly looked to the horse beyond the fence. He had his head raised, he, too, curiously watching the doctor's movements. He briefly glanced in Ana's direction, before he turned once more to McCree. "We'll let you know."

The vet gave a nod. Calling her final goodbyes, Dr. Ziegler briskly disappeared down the driveway. It wasn't long before the crunch of tires on gravel again filled the air, followed by the sight of the sleek black Jeep as it carried on down the narrow lane way, fading gradually from view.

The cowboy stood quietly for a few seconds, before he turned once more to the haltered mustang. He let out a sigh of contentment. Well, _that_ had gone more smoothly than expected, at least. Hanzo had held up remarkably well. Even during the more... _uncomfortable_ moments of the examination, he had shown nothing but patience.

Involuntarily, he felt his heart swell.

"Good boy, Hanzo." He emphatically gave the horse's nose a rub, only to be met with a gentle nudge. Dejected, McCree withdrew his hand.

 _Huh. Weird._

"Jesse, watch out!"

Jack's warning had barely reached his ears before McCree felt the strong pull on his arm. Before he could react, the rope had been jerked from his hand - gloved, thankfully - and it now trailed in the dirt beneath him.

It took him a moment to collect himself. He stood, in disbelief, for a few moments, before focusing on the horse's face once more. His heart, so full of pride a minute ago, sank. Already, the mustang's pointed ears were partially folded backwards; already, his expression had turned stone-cold.

Best to just leave him alone, he mused. With a sinking feeling in his gut, the cowboy walked to the gate.

"He's still a wild animal, Jesse," Ana gently reminded him, as he slid the bolt shut behind him. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know he appears to trust you, but it is still to early to be sure. It would be unwise to take any unnecessary risks."

The American sighed, glancing wistfully back in the animal's direction. His expression had not changed. Had he been in human form, Hanzo would have been giving him a look of pure disdain. To add insult to injury, the mustang promptly turned around, his back to McCree, and gave a loud snort.

There was no explanation for the wounded feeling which promptly hit McCree in the gut.

"I know," he simply said. He tore his gaze away from the horse.

Jack gave a sigh.

"At least that's taken care of for now," he said. He began walking ahead, in the direction of the large barn. "We can check back on him later. But right now, I think it's high time these stables were mucked out."

Ana nodded, joining her companion. She threw a look in the cowboy's direction, before gesturing towards the building.

McCree let out a quiet groan, but made no further complaint. Casting one final glance at Hanzo, he too headed over to the stables.

He would return later, he decided. Probably with more carrots.

He needed _some_ way of apologising, after all.

...

 _Tap-tap. Thud._

McCree's eyes shot open. Not _again_. Would he _ever_ get a good night's sleep? He glanced at his alarm clock, and groaned quietly as the figures, reading 2.30 am, stared mockingly back in his face.

The cowboy rubbed at his eyes, irritated. Probably just Hanzo again, he thought. If he was to accommodate a shape-shifter on his own property, he supposed he'd better get used to it.

He cast a look towards his window. Sure enough, a familiar stocky figure stood silhouetted against the pale moonlight, just as he had the night before.

It was indeed Hanzo. Transformed, once more, into human shape.

McCree blinked. Despite his earlier "apology" to the horse, he should have known Hanzo would come to him to complain. Even so, he had only half-expected that he'd be shown Hanzo's true form again so soon. Still, it was a rare sight; he wasn't about to complain. Despite the dark look on the man's face, he still found himself thinking idly that there was _some_ beauty to be found in him.

McCree pushed back the covers - not that there were many, anyway - and stepped into his slippers. Calmly, though with an inexplicable knot in his stomach, he approached the other man. His cheeks promptly flushed as it dawned on him that Hanzo stood quite unclothed. Of course. He quickly averted his eyes, ignoring the urge to stare. No, now was not the time nor place. Now rather flustered, he grabbed his folded red serape from the bedside stand and practically tossed it in the other man's direction.

Hanzo's frown only intensified. McCree saw him curl his lip. He shook the garment out a few times, causing a flurry of loose greyish-white hairs to float down onto the carpet. Great, now he'd spend the whole next day cleaning up. "Do you have nothing better to wear? This thing's filthy."

McCree gave a stretch, wincing as he cracked a joint, before he paused. Hanzo's tone was laced with annoyance, his face still displaying the same disapproving look. His heart rate quickened. Anxiously, he rubbed at the back of his neck.

"It was on ya all night, of course it's not gonna be fresh."

Hanzo wrinkled his nose as he shrugged on the red serape, again settling it in such a way that it covered most of his front.

"It smells of smoke and cheap whiskey," he commented, the tone of disgust audible in his voice. "And horse."

McCree stifled a chuckle. That was rich, coming from the mouth of a horse shape-shifter himself.

"'M sorry, but I couldn't much leave it there," McCree said. "As far as anyone's concerned, that's what you are. To them, you're just a plain ol' horse."

Hanzo took a moment to process McCree's response. His frown intensified, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes," he said, quietly. Dangerously quietly. McCree's feeling of anxiety grew. "But should that _really_ mean they can simply do what they want with me?!" He took a long step towards McCree. The cowboy started backing away nervously. "That they can just _molest_ me like that? Stick things _in_ me? Without my _consent?_ "

His voice was growing dangerously loud. Furiously, McCree motioned for him to be quiet, placing a finger to his lips.

It didn't work.

"Was all that really _necessary?!_ I feel positively _violated!_ _Tainted!_ "

McCree let out a short gasp as his back hit the smooth surface of his door. Hanzo stood dangerously close to him. If he had been wearing a shirt, McCree was certain Hanzo would have grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to make eye contact. As it was, he simply glared upwards at the taller man, his dark eyes no longer warm and beautiful but instead dark and stormy.

McCree just stared back, his own eyes narrowed.

"It's standard procedure, Hanzo." He kept his voice even. "There was no avoidin' it. 'M sorry."

Hanzo didn't look convinced. The American cleared his throat, and placed his hands on the other man's shoulders. He felt him tense.

"Ya saw the form," he continued, being careful to keep his voice to a whisper. "Ya saw how Dr. Ziegler wrote down all that official stuff. We do that for all the horses. Ya needn't feel like 's just you, Hanzo. I would never let 'em do anythin' bad to ya."

There was a pause. Hanzo pulled at the carefully-arranged serape, as if he were willing it to cover more of himself. Closing his eyes, he sighed.

"Do you mean that?" He still didn't sound convinced.

McCree swallowed. "I do. I promise."

The American felt Hanzo's shoulders slacken beneath his hands. He opened his eyes.

"...Very well. I will have to take your word for it."

Hanzo made a shrugging motion, prompting McCree to withdraw his hands. There was a pause. Slowly, he stepped back from McCree. His expression had softened, thought his brows had creased once more into a look of confusion.

"...That word the vet mentioned. What was it - "gelded". Does that - does it mean what I think it does?"

Oh boy. McCree could tell this was going to get awkward.

"Yeah, it does 'm afraid. More or less." He ran a sluggish hand through his tousled hair. "Basically gettin' the vet to - uh, y'know." Yep, this was awkward. He looked away. "Cut your nuts off."

A look of unbridled disgust came across Hanzo's features at the suggestion. He grimaced.

"And you do that to _all_ your horses?"

"Well, yeah. To the male ones, anyway."

McCree stepped away from the door, back towards Hanzo.

"But 's only because it makes 'em easier to handle," he continued. Hanzo's face softened. "I wouldn' let 'em do it for no good reason. An' definitely not to you."

He couldn't help but glance, ever so briefly, downwards. The other man's hands curled protectively around the serape, pulling it closer to his lower body.

"...I am glad to hear it."

Without another word, he turned and stepped back over to the window. The back of the serape swished almost elegantly around him as he walked - throwing bare skin, and an irregular array of bandages, in McCree's direction.

It was truly puzzling, he mused, how Hanzo had never torn any bandages during the shape-shifting process. Not that he knew exactly how the process _worked_ , but he imagined it was physically taxing in every way possible.

"Hey," he softly called. The Japanese man stopped, and turned. "Your wounds holdin' up okay? I got some painkillers in the first-aid box, so if you ever feel ya need 'em, just come to me. I'll be here if ya ever need patchin' up again."

He wasn't sure, but he thought he could see the barest hint of a smile appear on Hanzo's face.

"I am fine for now. Thank you." His tone no longer had an edge to it; now, he seemed calmer. So much calmer, McCree almost thought it a pity he couldn't stay.

Surely there had to be _some_ things Hanzo missed about human luxuries. Nice, clean clothes, varied meals, a cosy warm bed...

"You can stay the night here if ya want," he suggested, before he even thought about it. He regretted it a split second later, fearing Hanzo would take him as overly keen. He shook the thought from his head, and continued. "I could get ya up real early and back into the corral before anyone even had the slightest idea you were here. No one need know."

The man let out a sigh as he looked upwards to the open window. The curtains, half-drawn, billowed slightly in the gentle breeze.

"No. I can not. It is not safe."

There was a pause. Outside, a lone owl's hoot pierced the night.

"Besides, it is already early. I do not have the time."

McCree nodded. He was right, unfortunately. Before he could reply, Hanzo leapt upwards and grabbed onto the window ledge single-handed. Like last night, the cowboy stood there agape as, effortlessly, the man vaulted through the gap and landed cleanly on his feet, bending his knees.

McCree let out a low whistle, and shook his head as he watched Hanzo disappear from view.

Seems he would never, at least not yet, understand the enigma that was Hanzo Shimada.


	4. Chapter 4

_Days slowly turned to weeks, which in turn became months. The first crisp chill of autumn, though subdued by the balmy southern climate, began to set in. The world around him became a tapestry of rich browns, reds and yellows. Touched by the sunrise, they became a symbol of hope._

 _The grey mustang raised his head. He closed his eyes, breathing in the cool morning air, before releasing it in a steady breath. He gave a shake, satisfied to feel the gentle brush of soft strands over his neck. Already his mane had grown out considerably; it was no longer a tufty, ragged mess but now a good few inches down his neck. Already, he felt more like his old self. He cast a glance over his shoulder. If he were human, he would have smiled at the ever-so-faint lines across his hindquarters, now exposed to the air._

 _That simple fact was no longer a problem._

 _The pain had long subsided, and he couldn't have been more glad._

 _In less than a month, he could finally take his leave of this place, and run free once more._

 _Except..._

 _The horse cast his gaze towards the large farmhouse up on the hill. A light flickered on in one of the rooms, followed by another, then another, until every window was illuminated. Curtains were drawn back, revealing figures which promptly disappeared from view._

 _He sighed. They weren't bad people. Not at all. Even when they had summoned their local vet to... examine him, to put it tastefully, he knew that they had only his best interests at heart._

 _Particularly Jesse McCree._

 _If it were not for that man, his "domesticated" life would have remained as miserable as it had started out. No doubt, he would still be living - existing, rather - in that hellhole of a ranch. He would still be the sore, undernourished, depressed horse his rescuers had found about two months ago. But McCree had changed all that. He had been so gentle, so understanding, with him, right from day one._

 _He appreciated his kindness. Truly._

 _He'd be wrong if he said he didn't enjoy the man's company._

 _He'd be wrong if he said that, though it_ was _just a small part, there wasn't undeniably part of his soul which longed to stay._

 _..._

"Today, I'm gonna try an' ride him."

McCree's confident statement was met with more than one gasp from the table before him. Lucio's spoon fell against his cereal bowl with a loud clatter. Vaguely amused, the cowboy looked around him. Not one face did not look surprised, shocked or disbelieving.

"Oh, Jesse." Ana shook her head, her cup of tea temporarily forgotten. "We all know that's probably not a good idea."

"Not yet, Jesse. It's too dangerous," Jack added. Inwardly, McCree sighed at the gruff edge to his voice. "He's barely trained. Besides, after all he was put through in that god-forsaken hellhole, I'd say he'll be quite reluctant to be put under saddle."

McCree nodded. That part was likely to be true, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he found out for himself.

"I understand your concerns loud an' clear," he replied, taking one last gulp from his coffee mug and pushing it aside. "But Hanzo's an intelligent horse. Surely he understands that I won't hurt him."

Ana sighed, before rising from her seat.

"There's a difference between not hurting him and getting him to follow orders, Jesse." She shook her head. "It can be hard for animals to forget what they have been put through. You must understand that."

"An' I do." More confidently than he now felt, McCree rose and pushed back his chair. "But you're not gonna stop me. I have to try."

A collective sigh rose from the table. Was this _really_ a good idea? Was he _really_ crazy for trying?

No, he reminded himself. If any horse would quickly gain his trust, it would be Hanzo. With human-level intelligence, Hanzo wouldn't do anything to hurt him. Not on purpose, anyway. At least, he hoped not.

"Very well." Jack, too, rose. "But if you get hurt, you must acknowledge that it's entirely your own fault, and no one else's."

McCree nodded. Turning towards the door, hiding his face from view, he smirked.

"Got it."

He pulled his hat from the hat stand, almost pulling the whole thing down in his enthusiasm. All-too-eagerly, he grabbed his serape, slid on his boots, and practically danced to the front door.

He couldn't wait to see how _this_ would go.

...

The polished leather and metal of the brand new tack gleamed in the morning sun as McCree carried it in his arms. Heaving the heavy saddle onto the fence post, and slinging the bridle over its surface, he nonchalantly walked over to the corral gate and slid it open.

He smiled. Hanzo's nose was still firmly stuck into the feeding trough, where he munched away contentedly. At least he didn't appear to mind the taste of sugar beet. It was hardly the ideal feed for this time of year, but hay was not an option - and it wasn't as if Hanzo could keep living on carrots.

McCree stepped closer to the horse. Hand outstretched, he gently laid it against his neck. He was pleasantly warm to the touch. The thick winter coat had just started growing in, judging by how his gloved fingers sank into the surrounding fur, and it would be only a matter of time before it needed clipping.

...Wait. Would Hanzo even _let_ him do that?

Surely he would have no objections to such a thing; not if it made him more comfortable. Mentally, though, McCree made a note to ask him, next time he became human. _If_ he ever got to saw him in that state again, that was.

Idly, he ran his hand down Hanzo's neck, back and forth, the fur ruffling beneath his fingers. The horse raised his head and looked at him for a moment. McCree gave him a smile. With a gentle huff, Hanzo turned away again, and pushed his muzzle back into the container to resume his meal.

"Hanzo," McCree said, confidently, "today I'm gonna try an' ride you."

The cowboy hastily lifted his hand as Hanzo raised his head with an alarmed whinny. He turned his head and looked McCree in the eye. He did not look angry, exactly, but the position of his ears, pointed halfway backwards, told McCree what he thought of the idea. Afraid, perhaps; definitely anxious, anyway.

McCree placed his hand on the horse's nose.

"Relax, Hanzo," he said softly. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. It'll be jus' fine."

He stroked his fingers against the dark, velvety skin of Hanzo's muzzle, before adding, "I promise."

There was no reaction from Hanzo for the next few moments. McCree allowed him the time to process his intentions. Eventually, Hanzo turned away with a resigned sigh. Glancing quickly down to the food trough, and finding it now empty, he simply lowered his head and closed his eyes.

McCree's heart constricted. There could be no doubt that, no matter how gentle he intended to be, his actions would cause some unpleasant memories to come flooding back.

He shook his head. No, he thought, as he walked over and retrieved the leather bridle. Hopefully, if he could help it, they would not. He would show Hanzo, would show him that there was more than _one_ way to train a horse.

He kept his movements slow and steady as he approached the mustang. Hanzo now looked apprehensively in his direction, his eyes intently focused on the tack in McCree's hands. McCree's heartbeat quickened.

 _Please let me show you, Hanzo... We're not_ all _bad._

With deft hands, he unfastened the buckle of the throatlash and brought the bit to Hanzo's mouth. As expected, the mustang drew back his head, his mouth firmly clamped shut. He made an offended snort.

McCree paused. There was no telling what exactly his previous riders had done, but it seemed all too likely that they were not gentle on his mouth. Mentally, he kicked himself. There had been a bitless bridle for sale, damn it. Why hadn't he bought _that?_

Still, as it stood, he had no alternative. Using any of the other horses' bridles, all with bits, wasn't an option, and sharing them was hardly sanitary. With a quiet sigh, McCree again brought the metal bar to the horse's mouth.

"Come on," he gently coaxed. Hanzo huffed in annoyance, though this time, as if he understood, he did not pull back. McCree gently placed a hand beneath his chin, encouraging him to open. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. Come on. Good boy."

Hanzo gave a final sigh. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth and took the bit between his teeth. McCree smiled, passing the browband up to the horse's ears, and swiftly fastening the throatlash under his cheek. It fit perfectly, nice and snug, yet still a hand's breadth from the skin.

"Good boy!" Emphatically, the cowboy rubbed a hand along Hanzo's velvety nose. The mustang chewed at the bit, presumably adjusting his tongue once more to the cold steely taste. Could hardly be pleasant, McCree thought, but he'd have to get used to it for the time being.

Trusting that Hanzo would stay still, the American fetched the tan leather saddle. He first delicately placed the woollen saddle pad across Hanzo's back, waiting to see how he would respond. He stood back. There was no visible objection. Hanzo stood stock still; in fact, if McCree didn't know any better, he'd say that he was waiting for him to finish the task.

The cowboy smiled. He hoisted the heavy saddle onto Hanzo's back, sliding it so it sat just behind the withers, and fastened both the front and flank cinches snugly. He placed a hand between the straps and Hanzo's belly. Mercifully, it seemed Hanzo did not know the age-old blowing-out trick that Huckleberry had always pulled. McCree hoped he'd never learn.

McCree stroked a hand along the horse's neck, then gave him a gentle pat. "Good boy, Hanzo."

He gave a chuckle at the ever-so-soft rumble that sounded from Hanzo's throat in response. Still smiling, he brought the long reins over the horse's head and gathered them into one hand. He gave a gentle tug, coaxing Hanzo to follow, as he walked towards the gate.

"Come on, Hanzo," he encouraged. The mustang walked briskly behind, his confident strides matching his own. Locking the gate behind him, he proceeded in the direction of the riding arena.

Now _this_ was the fun part.

...

McCree was not scared of horses. That was an irrefutable fact. _Especially_ not those gifted with the ability to become human. Even so, he found his hands shaking, just a little, as he took hold of the reins and placed a foot into the leather stirrup.

Hanzo had been gentle enough up until now, but there was absolutely no way of telling how he'd behave under saddle.

Nimbly, the cowboy vaulted into the saddle. Placing his other foot into the matching stirrup, he took hold of the reins in his right hand.

McCree looked down at the horse beneath him. Hanzo wasn't a tall horse, standing at just over fifteen hands, but for a tall man like he, he felt strangely lower than he had expected. Hanzo stood placidly, awaiting McCree's further actions. Even so, McCree felt him pull his head forward, the bit squeaking as he rolled it between his teeth. He gave him another quick pat on the neck.

"It's okay, Hanzo."

McCree glanced over to the nearby fence. Ana and Jack, obviously just as curious as he, had come to assess Hanzo's performance - or maybe just to scold him for his stupidity. Whichever it was, he really couldn't tell, but he sure hoped it was the former.

At least Lena and Lucio were busy. If anything went wrong in front of _them,_ he'd never live it down.

"Now remember, Jesse," he heard Ana say, quite sternly. "Just be gentle with him. Don't push him too far. You'll be the one who will get hurt, not him."

He gave a quiet sigh, though he nodded in affirmation.

"Got it," he replied. "It'll be fine."  
 _  
At least, I hope it'll be._

He had barely taken heed of the knot in his stomach, but now he pushed it down. Horses were twitchy creatures at best; the last thing he needed was for Hanzo to pick up on his nerves.

He swallowed.

It was time.

He gathered the rein in a firm yet relaxed hold. Clicking his tongue, McCree gave Hanzo's belly a gentle nudge with his heels. With a soft snort, the mustang picked up his feet and set off into a brisk walk.

McCree had already bore witness to Hanzo's graceful, fluid movements, but from a different perspective. Beneath the saddle, they only felt all the more elegant. Every step felt more like a prance; as if he were showing off for his audience. Which maybe he was, the cowboy found himself wondering, as the horse calmly walked on.

He smiled. The soft rhythmic thud of Hanzo's hooves against the sandy ground was surprisingly soothing. He allowed himself to relax into the deep seat of the saddle, feeling the tension in his muscles rapidly fade away.

They were off to a good start.

His heart fluttered in his chest. Hanzo really was an amazing creature.

He was an amazing _man_.

McCree shook his head, willing the unprompted thought away as soon as it snuck into his mind. Now was not the time to be thinking such foolish thoughts.

They had passed the others at the fence again now. If Hanzo had any intention of misbehaving, any at all, he certainly didn't show it. The cowboy glanced over his shoulder at the faces of his companions. Both wore smiles, Ana giving him an accompanying nod of encouragement. McCree simply nodded back.

It was time to test Hanzo further.

"Come on," he gently urged. The horse pulled an ear back, listening, as he once more spurred him on gently.

Beneath him, Hanzo broke into an easy jog. Like his walk, McCree found it to be comfortable, relaxing even. Like sitting on a cloud, almost. Hanzo's pace was lively, yet not too bouncy; it matched McCree's buoyant mood perfectly.

He let the horse make two more rounds of the arena, before he spurred him into a lope.

With a gentle leap of his forelegs, Hanzo eagerly transitioned into the gait. McCree couldn't stop the smile which appeared on his face. The mustang moved just like a rocking horse, the movement gently carrying him back and forth. His heart swelled. It was no gallop, yet already, he felt exhilarated.

His gaits were just so damn _comfortable_. He didn't know what he expected, but it certainly wasn't _this_. For a wild horse - for a wild horse that was not only that, but _human_ \- it was incredible indeed.

He allowed Hanzo one more lap, before gradually slowing his mount to a jog, then a walk.

He couldn't resist giving Hanzo's neck a proud stroke. "Well done, Hanzo."

The mustang gave a snort of reply. As the horse and rider approached Ana and Jack, McCree gently pulled him to a halt. Hanzo's breathing was deep and even; McCree could feel the distinct pulse of his heartbeat beneath the saddle. As if he himself had been running, his own heartbeat matched its pace. He shifted his position, grimacing slightly at the warmth now pooling beneath his seat. Yep, he had definitely stuck to the saddle. He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, damp with sweat, then down his back, where he pulled the fabric of his shirt free from his skin.

Despite his discomfort, he couldn't have felt happier. Hanzo had gone above and beyond to please him, and for a supposedly wild horse, he had done a damn good job.

"So how'd I do?" McCree turned expectantly to his friends. Their faces said it all. In an expression which matched his own feelings, both Ana and Jack looked on wide-eyed. There were a few moments of silence, before Ana shook her head gently.

"He must really trust you, Jesse," she said.

McCree gave a low chuckle.

"Guess he does," he replied. Once again, he gave the horse a proud pat, prompting a satisfied huff.

The man and woman nodded. McCree saw Ana walk to the arena gate.

"I wonder..." she began. She pulled back the bolt and entered. "...I wonder if it's just you, Jesse. Do you suppose he'd let me ride him?"

The cowboy shrugged, feeling certain that the answer was _no_.

"Can't say I know, Ana."

"Well... would he let me try?"

McCree swallowed. Already, he could foresee the outcome.

 _That's... probably not a good idea, Ana._

Nevertheless, he remained quiet, as he gave a nod of reply. Maybe Hanzo _would_ tolerate other riders, he thought. Maybe it _wasn't_ unique to him. Removing both feet from the stirrups, he swung his leg over the cantle of the saddle and slid to the ground.

There was only one way to know.

He moved to the mustang's head, holding the reins beneath his chin. He looked on, a knot in his gut, as the woman placed her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself upwards.

He closed his eyes.

 _Please don't screw this up, Hanzo._

A displeased squeal snapped him out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes, just in time for the reins to be snatched from his hand. Ana hadn't even time to settle into the saddle before Hanzo had taken off to the far end of the arena. McCree winced as the horse gave a leap into the air, unseating his rider and throwing her to the ground.

He rushed to Ana's side.

"I'm so sorry." He bent down, helping the woman to her feet. "You alright?"

"It's not your fault, Jesse," Ana replied. She brushed herself down. "I should have known better."

Both looked over their shoulder. Hanzo now calmly walked away from them, back towards the fence. He stopped before Jack, and looked at him intently, as if he were taunting him to try the same.

McCree sighed. If he already knew anything about Hanzo... then that was _definitely_ his intention.

"Well, I don't blame ya for tryin'," he said, as they walked over to the gate. He once more took Hanzo's reins in his hand, waiting for the next rider. "Hanzo's a good horse, generally."

"He is. It's not his fault," was all Ana said. She gave Hanzo a light pat on the neck - which Hanzo objected to, judging by the slight curl of his lip - before she exited the arena.

"Maybe he'll listen to you, Jack," McCree heard her say. The man gave a sigh, but then he, too, walked towards the gate.

"We will have to find out."

Confidently, the older man walked towards the horse. Once more, McCree closed his eyes, silently praying that Hanzo would not repeat the performance of two minutes ago. He held his breath, as Jack gripped the saddle and stepped into the stirrup.

Once more, he felt the reins torn from his grip. McCree didn't even open his eyes, knowing full well that Jack would hit the dirt in a matter of seconds.

Another displeased squeal, followed by a yell and a _thud_ against the sand, prompted him to open his eyes. He looked to the far end of the arena.

Sure enough, his older companion lay face down in the sand, with a grey mustang proudly walking away from him. McCree shook his head as he walked over to Jack, but he couldn't resist smirking a little. It was funny, in a way. Hanzo seemed almost proud of his achievement - his head was carried high, his tail swishing confidently back and forth. There was a spring in his step, as he practically pranced back to his starting position.

A low chuckle formed in McCree's throat. If that _wasn't_ the most Hanzo thing.

 _Smug little bastard._

"You alright?" The cowboy extended his arm, which the other man gratefully took, and helped him from the ground.

Jack brushed himself down, and straightened his shirt. "I'm fine. Thank you."

He gave a stretch, before he placed a hand against his forehead, guarding his eyes from the bright sunlight, and looked towards Hanzo. McCree saw him shake his head.

"What is it about you, Jesse, that makes him trust _you?_ "

McCree shrugged. Once again, the _real_ answer wouldn't quite cut it here.

"I dunno, Jack." He stepped over to Hanzo. This time, he didn't take the rein, instead opting to gently scratch the side of the horse's face. He closed his eyes, McCree's touch evidently a welcome feeling. "He just... likes me, I guess."

"Well, whatever it is, it's incredible," Jack said. "I've never seen a mustang take so readily to work under saddle. Not in such a short time."

He gave McCree a pat on the shoulder, and glanced up at Hanzo before moving in the direction of the gate.

"You're a privileged man, Jesse McCree."

"I'll drink to that," Ana responded. "You have this _way_ with horses, Jesse. It's a rare gift. Cherish it while you can."

A feeling of warmth crept up McCree's neck and flushed his face. He couldn't help but puff out his chest, smiling proudly.

"Thank ya."

The familiar feeling of ticklish whiskers and a warm huff against his collar, as Hanzo pushed his nose into the crook of his neck, only pushed his smile to hurting point. He brought his arm around the horse's face, cupping his muzzle, and gazed at him fondly.

 _There ain't a single reason why I shouldn't._

 _..._

"Just what am I gonna do with ya?"

McCree's question was met with a soft huff. The cowboy smiled, casually tossing his spent cigarillo over his shoulder. He closed his eyes, drinking in the last of the serene birdsong. A content sigh left him, before he opened his eyes and looked on from his fence-top perch as Hanzo finished off the last of his evening feed. Ensuring there were no left over pellets in the bottom of the trough, the horse raised his head. His ears pricked forward as McCree procured a dark bundle from under his arm. Calmly, the horse walked over to him.

McCree shook out the ebony black serape, hoping it would suffice. It certainly _smelled_ cleaner, at least; he couldn't remember the last time it had been worn. It wasn't as if he hadn't a whole pile of them lying around, after all, and Hanzo could hardly keep borrowing the shabby old red one he favoured. He deserved better than that. Of course, getting proper clothes for Hanzo _was_ in order, but he'd worry about that later. For now, McCree hoped the garment in his hands would be enough.

Curiously, the mustang sniffed at the black material. He snorted. Amused, McCree watched as he moved his nose to the tattered ends of his own serape, as if he were taking in its scent. Maybe he was, he wasn't quite sure. He barely stifled a laugh as once more, the long whiskers brushed against the fine fabric of his shirt and through to his skin - then the movement stopped. In its place came a firm tug. McCree glanced downwards. The end of his serape was caught firmly between Hanzo's teeth, and he now pulled at it, willing it to come off.

"Hey, hey, knock it off, Hanzo." He pulled the material back. Hanzo, quite stubbornly, did not let go. "It's mine. You're not gettin' it tonight."

The horse only gave a muffled snort. McCree felt himself sliding cleanly off of the shiny metal of the fence, as Hanzo continued to pull with all his might. He would have him on the ground soon if he wasn't careful. His mind raced. Quickly, he grabbed the spare serape in his free hand and flung it over the horse's back.

" _This_ one's yours. Consider it a gift, from me to you."

With a quiet grunt, Hanzo stopped pulling. The American gave a sigh of relief. Hanzo let go of the material, and instead glanced over his shoulder. The black garment rested snugly against his back, and McCree had to admit that it complimented his sleek grey coat and dark mane very well indeed.

Idly, he wondered if it'd look as good on his human body. As the last golden rays of the evening sun glistened off of the horse's silky mane, McCree found his thoughts wandering further, to those of Hanzo's human form.

Try as he may, the images his mind had retained of Hanzo's true form would not leave his mind. Not that he minded - in fact, quite the opposite. Hanzo's transformations were sporadic at best - in the last month or so, he had had few nightly "visits", save for when Hanzo felt the need to complain - and McCree really did have to wonder when he'd see it again. No doubt, by now he would look worlds healthier, his hair longer and fuller, and his face no longer gaunt...

He shook his head. No. Patience was key. Like in all of Hanzo's training to date, he would have to wait. It would take time, perhaps a long time at that, before the man decided he felt comfortable enough around him.

"See?" He reached over, to distract himself, and smoothed the serape flat against the horse's coat. Hanzo huffed appreciatively as McCree's hands roamed over his back. "'S just as good as mine. Better."

He gave the horse a pat as the last of the wrinkles disappeared beneath his hand. He had barely removed his hand before the mustang turned his back and wandered over to the far end of the corral, with a dismissive swish of his tail.

McCree tilted his head. _Now_ what was he doing?

Curious, he looked on. The horse now scraped a front hoof into the dirt, pawing at the ground for all he was worth. He stopped briefly, before he stepped to the right with a loud snort and repeated the action.

The cowboy shook his head. Hanzo was an odd horse, no doubt about it. Clever, but odd as far as horses came. As Hanzo continued to move to the side, the first few marks in the earth became visible. He squinted.

N-O-

Letters! But just what did Hanzo have to say?

A few moments later, the horse, giving a satisfied snort, walked back over to McCree's side. He squinted harder, still puzzling over what message Hanzo was trying to convey.

N-O B-I-T.

McCree did a double-take.

 _No bit._

Of course. So there _was_ a reason for his behaviour earlier on. He would've suspected as much.

He gave a sigh.

"Hanzo, I wouldn't have used it if I could," he said. "But it was all I had, 'm sorry."

Hanzo gave a frustrated snort. Rather rudely, McCree felt, he shoved his nose into his hand. The metal fingers of the American's left hand cupped his muzzle, and, sensing he was trying to tell him something, he traced one delicately down to the corner of his mouth.

McCree, realisation gradually dawning, placed it gently between the horse's lips. He was surprised when, instead of biting, Hanzo simply let him pull back the skin, exposing pink gums and teeth.

"...I know. They really weren't nice to ya back there, were they?" he questioned, very quietly.

A rhetorical question, really. His heart twisted. Unfortunately, he was already much too certain of the extent of the damage. Hanzo's mouth showed no visible signs of mistreatment or injury, but he was not fooled. In the hands of a stern rider, a bit could easily become a formidable weapon against an unbroken horse - and no doubt, it _had._ Not wishing to add to the mustang's discomfort, he withdrew his hand. Hanzo lowered his head, and gave another sigh, following it with an ever-so-slight shake of his head.

The prick of tears formed behind McCree's eyes, despite his best efforts. His eyes moved to the mustang's short, ruffled mane, then to his now-covered rump, then back to his face.

Though he had never once beheld Hanzo in the wild, had never known him as he was before, an image of a healthy, unbranded, long-maned stallion involuntarily entered his mind.

Hanzo was right.

He clenched his fist, gritting his teeth.

McCree was pretty sure they had done worse in their lifetime, but this really was the last straw. If it were the last thing he did... he would make those bastards at Holt & Stansfield pay.

He blinked, trying to stop the tears before they sprung. Now was not the time. He was all Hanzo had. Possibly all he had left, he had no way of knowing. Extending a hand, he clicked his tongue, encouraging the horse to raise his head. With pricked ears, Hanzo lifted his head, and once more placed his nose against McCree's gloved hand. McCree felt him sigh against its surface.

For a moment, both man and horse were silent. The last of the golden sunlight danced off of Hanzo's brown eyes, rendering them a deep amber. McCree allowed himself to simply gaze into their depths for a moment, transfixed. Idly, he traced his hand to beneath Hanzo's chin, taking in the feel of the thick fuzzy fur which grew along its length.

He sighed.

"Don' worry, Hanzo," he said, quietly. The horse sighed appreciatively, as McCree's fingers evidently struck a sweet spot. "I'd never let anythin' like that happen to ya again. You'll be safe here."

He paused. Hanzo's eyes had closed; his head now leaning, just a little, into his hand.

"...I promise."


	5. Chapter 5

The temperate autumn gave way to a mild winter, then slowly to spring. With no true cold to discern the seasons, they melded together seamlessly; even so, spring seemed to come around all too quickly. The sounds of birdsong, subdued for too long, returned to the countryside. Everywhere McCree looked, he could see colourful flowers, returning from winter, poking their heads above the soil.

He smiled to himself, as he lazily took another drag of his cigarillo. He exhaled slowly, sending a plume of grey smoke through the bedroom window, and casually draped his arm over its frame.

Finally, the mornings were bright again. No more rides in the dark, and, hopefully, longer evenings to spend with the horses.

To spend with Hanzo.

McCree's smile only grew all the more at that thought. _Hanzo._ He took another drag, before exhaling once more. Cigarillo now spent, he tossed it into the glass ashtray beside his bed.

He had had little nightly visits from the man - not that he was surprised - but every day spent in Hanzo's company, whether human or not, was a blessing. Despite the mostly-present species barrier, McCree couldn't deny the affection he felt for the horse. He had been taking things slowly, as the others had suggested, to gradually build up Hanzo's trust. _Too_ slowly for his liking, if he was honest. If Ana, or Jack, or Lena or Lucio had any idea about what - _who_ \- Hanzo really was, then all the extra training would have been but superfluous.

He turned from the window with a content sigh. Still, it had not been for nothing. If anything, it _had_ succeeded in bringing them closer. McCree moved to his bedside table, where his favourite red serape lay folded in a neat bundle. In these warmer days, the horse had little need for it. He picked up the serape, smiling as the morning sun caught its surface. Glistening against the scarlet surface were the unmistakable short, grey strands of horsehair. He lifted a hand and lightly stroked the material, causing some of the downy hairs to drift to the floor.

McCree let out a low chuckle. Hanzo, stubborn thing he was, never did settle for any of his other serapes. Not completely. More often than not, McCree found himself swapping the black one for his own - and, consequently, covering all his clothes in horsehair. Not that he minded, truthfully; if it placated Hanzo, then so be it. Hell, Hanzo had even refused the conventional horse rug he had bought especially for him. Even with half his body freshly clipped - McCree was surprised Hanzo had even let him do _that_ \- he had refused to have anything but McCree's old serape across his back, covering his exposed skin and keeping his body warm.

The cowboy gave a gentle nod, as he folded the garment and placed it back down. He'd be wrong if he said he wasn't flattered. It would seem that, whatever affection he had for the animal, Hanzo evidently felt the same way in return.

Not bothering with his slippers, McCree padded to the bathroom.

Now if only Hanzo felt that way about him in _human_ form...

He tried to push that thought from his head. Not wasting any more time, he undressed, laid his towel within reach, and stepped into the shower.

...

It didn't take him long to reach the paddock at the back of the property. With the cheerful twitter of birdsong filling his ears, McCree walked, a spring in his step, towards the gate. Hanzo's leather bridle - now bitless - in hand, he casually leaned an arm against the fence and looked out over the paddock.

Hanzo had only been turned out with the other horses for less than a month, but already, he was settling in nicely. He looked as if he had been there his whole life, peaceably chewing on the lush green grass like any normal horse. McCree smiled. It would be a while before the other horses accepted him, he knew; for now, they appeared to keep their distance, huddled together at the far end of the field. Not, presumably, that Hanzo minded; in fact, if McCree knew him well enough, he definitely did not.

Taking up the bridle, he wasted no time in unlocking the gate and entering the paddock.

He stopped several paces away from Hanzo, waiting to see how the horse would react. If he somehow knew he was there, he didn't show it, though a telltale ear pointed in his direction told McCree otherwise. He waited a few more moments, silently watching Hanzo's movements as he chewed away effortlessly at the grass.

He took a step forward.

A friendly whinny greeted him. McCree looked up. Hanzo's head was raised, his ears keenly pricked forward, as he looked in his direction.

McCree smiled, feeling his heart soften.

"Good morning, Hanzo."

With a gentle whicker, Hanzo walked towards him, only stopping inches from McCree. The cowboy placed his hand against the side of Hanzo's face, and lightly traced circles into its fuzzy surface. The horse closed his eyes for a moment, and lowered his head, leaning into the motion - before abruptly, he opened his eyes. Promptly, he placed his nose against McCree's pocket, intently poking at its contents.

McCree couldn't stifle the chuckle which rose within him. He'd be damned if he didn't still think that the fine whiskers, combined with the warm snuffling of Hanzo's nose against the fabric, was unbearably ticklish. Cute, too. Trying not to laugh, he gently pushed the horse's muzzle aside and fished out the packet of mints in his pocket.

"Yeah, I know. Be patient, will ya?" he teased, as he ripped the packet open. Placing a sweet into the palm of his hand, he offered it to Hanzo. With a grateful sigh, the horse lipped it off of his palm and munched contentedly.

With that done, McCree folded the packet - only for the horse to give his hand a firm nudge. His nose was practically stuck into the packet, hungry for another mint.

McCree sighed. If that _wasn't_ endearing. Again, he opened it and pulled out another mint, giving it to Hanzo, before pocketing the packet.

Giving the mustang another stroke, he carefully brought the bridle to Hanzo's head. At least, he thought, he didn't have to struggle with the bit any longer. Instead, the noseband slid easily over his muzzle, the cheekpieces resting snugly against his face. The horse turned his head as, taking care not to hurt him, McCree pulled the headpiece over his ears and secured the throatlash beneath his chin. As McCree tossed the reins over his neck, he felt Hanzo's warm nose against his pocket as he searched for yet another mint.

This time, he couldn't hold back the laugh.

"No, no, that's _it,_ Hanzo. No more mints." He laughed again as the horse let out a displeased snort. Even so, he pulled his head away from McCree's shirt, and stood calmly, awaiting any further action on McCree's part.

McCree smirked. Seems a couple of mints in the hand made _everything_ easier - at least when it came to horses. Taking the reins in one hand, and steadying his other on Hanzo's neck, he pulled himself up onto the horse's back. Hanzo turned his head and looked at him, almost quizzically, before he turned away.

McCree shifted around, adjusting his seat. Hanzo's coat was warm and soft beneath him; both his back and belly just the right proportions for his rider's comfort. Without a saddle beneath him, the horse felt strong and firm against his legs. Stroking a hand along Hanzo's withers, then up to his neck, McCree simply took in the feel of Hanzo's fluffy coat against his hand, prompting a huff of contentment. His fingers then moved to Hanzo's silky mane, now just shy of halfway down his neck, where they teased their way through the dark strands. Even through his glove, they felt surprisingly similar in texture to human hair.

It was hard for McCree not to imagine his fingers running instead through Hanzo's long, dark hair in his human form.

An annoying flush of heat crept up his neck, then to his face. He rubbed his free hand furiously against his cheek, willing it away. He paused. Feeling the heat go down, he traced his right hand to the clipped underside of the horse's neck. The velvety skin, soft with new growth, was a pleasant contrast to the thick winter coat. Hanzo gave another sigh as McCree lightly massaged his fingers into his skin.

"Feels good, don' it?" he said softly. The mustang pointed an ear backwards, listening, before he gave a whicker of response.

McCree chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes."

A soft snort followed his words, confirming his reply. He smiled. Taking a deep breath, he glanced back up the hill to the house. It was still quiet, thank goodness; all the curtains still drawn and no signs of life. McCree let out his breath in a long sigh, and gave Hanzo's mane another stroke, trying to allay his fears.

He had left a note on the dining table, where the others were bound to come upon it at breakfast. It wasn't as if they had any reason to worry about him or his whereabouts, much less Hanzo's. Even so, his hands trembled, ever-so-slightly, as he took up the rein.

He took another deep breath. Hanzo, sensing his tension, turned and looked at him once more, letting out a quiet sound of surprise.

McCree sighed.

"It's alright, Hanzo." He gave a nervous smile. Satisfied, the horse turned away. "You 'n me are gonna have a bit of fun. You'll see."

Hanzo gave another snort. Pushing down the knot in his gut, McCree gave Hanzo's belly a gentle nudge with his heels.

 _It will be fun_ , he thought, as he walked Hanzo on towards the gate. Pulling back the latch, he steered the horse through the gap and firmly swung it shut behind him.

 _...Hopefully._

 _..._

Leaning forward against Hanzo's withers, McCree sat tight as Hanzo crested the steep hill. Long grasses tickled his legs as they brushed past. He smiled. The feeling was not too dissimilar to that of the horse's fine whiskers against his clothes; it eased the knot of tension in his gut considerably. Still, he didn't dare look down as the mustang, moving at a sure-footed pace, swiftly took them both to the top.

McCree raised his head as Hanzo's pace evened out. He sighed quietly, raising his body and sitting upright once more. Slowing Hanzo gradually to a halt, he paused, drinking in the view.

Here they were - one of his favourite spots in the entire area. In the entire state, perhaps - maybe even the world, at a push. McCree's smile widened. The light breeze, carrying the sweet melodic tone of birdsong to his ears, ruffled his hair and tugged at the ends of his serape. He inhaled, then slowly breathed out. Raising his metal hand to his forehead, he simply took in the view below. Endless green pastures, with buildings dotted around them like a child's toy farm, rolled beneath them; if he squinted hard enough, he could see all the way to their neighbours Holt & Stansfield.

He tried not to shudder. As if he wanted to see _that_ place again.

Blissfully, he again stroked Hanzo's neck. The mustang made a low burring sound in his throat; his nostrils twitching, his ears pricked forward. McCree heard him, too, let out a sigh, as the gentle breeze lifted his growing mane and ruffled against his coat.

He didn't blame him. Not in the slightest. For a moment longer, he simply stayed put, breathing in the air and absorbing the view. Faintly, over the breeze, he could hear the running of water across stones; the relaxing melody of the nearby creek.

Perhaps they could give it a visit when they were done. For now, there were other matters to take care of.

McCree closed his eyes, then opened them. Almost involuntarily, he squeezed his legs more firmly against Hanzo's belly, gently nudging him onward.

It was time.

He clicked his tongue.

"Come on, Hanzo," he encouraged. "Gee up there."

With an eager snort, the mustang quickened his pace and broke into a trot. Like before, his every stride was easy and elegant. Despite the inevitable bounce, it was not too uncomfortable to sit out. Now considerably more relaxed, McCree pressed his heels to Hanzo's belly. The horse's pace grew all the more brisk.

The cowboy smiled widely. Already, a feeling of elation snaked its way through his gut. With minimal effort, Hanzo only picked up the pace; the taste of long-forgotten freedom evidently too hard to resist. Clicking his tongue, McCree simply let him have it.

Almost unprompted, though with another coax from McCree, Hanzo leapt into an easy canter.

McCree had had many a rocking horse as a child, but it was safe to say that Hanzo was more comfortable than any of them. Surprisingly so, without a saddle; the horse's broad body, stocky and strong, seemed made for his comfort. He leaned into the gait, slackening the rein. Hanzo's head, gently bobbing up and down with every stride, pulled forward at McCree's signal. With another snort, he keenly picked up the pace.

McCree's heart swelled in his chest. By now, Hanzo's pace was nearing a gallop, his footfall rapidly growing in speed. McCree closed his eyes. The wind, whistling in his ears, tugged at his hair and caressed his cheeks. He could not, would not, ever tire of such a feeling. Relaxing his hand, he further slipped the rein down the horse's neck.

That was all Hanzo needed.

McCree opened his eyes, his breath appearing to leave him all at once, as he felt Hanzo rush forward. He was galloping now, the evenly-paced gait only feeding the feeling of exhilaration rising within him. McCree tilted his head back, just a little, intoxicated by the feeling of the wind rushing past. He smiled, only barely managing to hold back a whoop of joy.

He could never go back to riding another horse like this.

He let Hanzo sprint forward, his head held high, for a few more moments, before he felt the pace of his hoofbeats slow down. A palpable damp warmth beneath his seat suggested that he was tiring. Not wishing to overwork the horse, McCree gathered the rein in his hand once more, and gave it the gentlest pull.

"Whoa there, Hanzo. Easy."

With a soft huff, Hanzo obligingly transitioned downwards into a canter, then trot, then a relaxed walk. Again, McCree loosened the rein, and simply let him pick his own way onwards through the the grassy plain.

Hanzo soon halted, unprompted. McCree looked down. They had reached the small creek, the natural boundary between the open plain and the world outside. The cowboy smiled as, eagerly, the mustang lowered his head and drank from the crystal-clear waters.

He gave Hanzo's neck a gentle pat. His grey coat, warm to the touch, felt slick with sweat beneath his hand. Letting go of the rein, he swung his leg carefully over Hanzo's back and slid to the ground.

Perhaps a drink wasn't such a bad idea. Bending down, McCree placed his hands into the trickling water below, scooping out a mouthful with carefully cupped hands. He brought it to his mouth, suddenly grateful for the cool hydration it gave. Hanzo had done all the work, of course, but the combination of the horse's warmth and the overhead sun had heated him up more than he had realised. Not wishing to waste the water, he splashed the remainder over his face, sighing in relief as it drew away the sweat.

He glanced over at his equine companion. Hanzo still drank, steadily, the water sliding effortlessly down his throat. The sunlight radiated off of his sleek dappled coat and bounced off of his shiny black mane. For a moment, McCree found himself staring, transfixed, at the single lock of black hair that fell across Hanzo's forehead, just missing his right eye.

A beautiful creature, indeed.

He sighed, then rose. He walked over to the horse and softly stroked his neck, prompting a low whicker.

He waited, until, satisfied, the mustang raised his head. He turned to McCree, almost as if he was encouraging him to resume their ride.

McCree merely gave him a nod. Taking the reins in his hand, he once more pulled himself onto the horse's broad back.

Unprompted, Hanzo turned around. His nostrils twitched, breathing in the bracing spring air. McCree left him to it. They were, after all, in no rush home. He focused his gaze through Hanzo's pricked ears, out at the endless carpet of green.

In that moment, it became clear. This was where he would take Hanzo, later, once he resumed his human form. Where they could waste their time under the endless blue sky, in each other's company, without a care in the world...

McCree blinked. Where had _that_ thought sprung from?

He shook his head. Now was not the time. The calm, ceaseless breeze continued to lightly tug at his serape and Hanzo's silky mane. His fingers twitched with the urge to once more caress the surprisingly human hair-like mass. He ignored it for now. Instead, refocusing himself, he nudged the horse's belly with his heels.

Hanzo practically jumped from halt to trot. Like before, his enthusiasm was undeniable. Again, McCree couldn't help but smile. Eagerly, the horse picked up his feet, his pace increasing steadily. In fact, with no cues from the cowboy, Hanzo soon broke unprompted into a lope.

McCree was taken aback but for a second. Instead of slowing the horse, he only smiled all the wider. Hanzo was not his to control, when all was said and done, and besides, who knew when he had last run free like this? Judging by his past mistreatment, it was far too likely he had not for several long months.

Who was he to stop him?

He took a deep breath. Before he could give it a second thought, McCree dropped the rein from his right hand, and instead placed it into the mustang's thick mane. Hanzo cantered on, heedless, though the American swore he could feel him tense slightly. McCree adjusted his seat, sitting deeper into the hollow of Hanzo's back. There was no time to be afraid. He squeezed his legs against the horse's side, silently praying for the best.

Nevertheless, as Hanzo loosened up beneath him, gratefully lengthening his stride, McCree felt his anxiety swiftly lifted off his shoulders.

In fact, as Hanzo plowed forward, the grass beneath but a green blur, McCree almost felt like cheering, like whooping in sheer joy. It took all he had in him to restrain himself. Instead, he opted for a wide smile. He closed his eyes, giving himself completely to the wind rushing through his hair and rippling through his clothes.

If there was a heaven, it would _have_ to feel like this.

He only opened his eyes once Hanzo had slowed.

The plain was only so expansive, and sure enough, Hanzo had galloped the full way to the opposite end. McCree leaned forward as he ran up the small hill marking the boundary. He only continued to smile at his enthusiasm. As Hanzo lifted his forelegs off of the ground, standing proudly in a rear, McCree simply leaned forward.

Hanzo needed this.

Leaning almost flat against the horse's warm back, McCree simply closed his eyes, and smiled.

It was at times like these, that he realised anew - there really _was_ no other place he'd rather be.

...

"That was... fun, at least."

Hanzo cast his gaze away from McCree, his hand curling protectively around the red serape draped over his body. McCree heard him sigh. For the briefest moment, a silence hung in the air between them. McCree swallowed slightly, feeling an all-too-familiar heat creep into his cheeks. Oh no, not now. Hesitantly, the other man turned once more to face him, their eyes locking. Involuntarily, McCree's heart jumped.

He cleared his throat. Despite his best efforts, he found his eyes wandering from Hanzo's face to his inky black hair. In the pale moonlight, it appeared almost a deep midnight blue. Now just shy of neck-length, and considerably thicker than before, it was harder than ever not to imagine his own hands running through it.

It was only when Hanzo raised an eyebrow, his mouth downturned in a frown, that McCree realised. He had been staring. Of course. He felt his face flush. Suddenly, he was thankful for the surrounding darkness.

"Well, uh... thanks, I guess?" McCree smiled nervously. Anxiously, he dragged a hand through his hair. Hanzo's face remained unreadable, though a faint smile eventually appeared on his lips.

"Hmm." The man looked down, then back to McCree. "...No. I should be thanking you."

Hanzo's brown eyes met the cowboy's once more. If they had seemed serious before, now they were practically smiling.

"Thank you, Jesse."

McCree looked away. Now he really _was_ blushing, damn it.

"Aw, shucks." He chuckled nervously. "Was jus' tryin' to make ya feel better, 's all."

"No," Hanzo replied, quietly. He took a few steps towards McCree. The cowboy's heart raced faster. "Thank you, for everything."

There was a pause. Hanzo closed his eyes, releasing a small sigh, before once more looking to McCree.

"You've been... good to me. I had forgotten how that could feel."

McCree saw his grip on the serape tighten. Anxiously, he pulled at the fabric, adjusting its folds.

"When you took me out, it suddenly became clear. You do not intend to use me, how so many others would. And just for that... I am grateful."

McCree remained silent. In this instant, no words would suffice. Hesitantly, he reached out both hands, slowly laying them to rest upon Hanzo's shoulders. The man did not flinch.

"Hanzo," he began, in a low voice. "I'd never dream of doin' a poor horse wrong." He dropped his voice further. "'Specially not one like you."

Hanzo was silent. For a moment, the only thing audible to McCree was his own furious heartbeat, roaring in his ears like the tide. The other man's gaze remained fixed intently on his own, unceasing. Outside, an owl's lone call pierced the night.

"You're safe here, Hanzo. I promise."

"...That is good to know." Giving the most gentle shrug, displacing McCree's hands, Hanzo looked away once more. Again, his hands tightened anxiously around the fabric he gripped in his hands. If he wasn't mistaken, McCree thought he saw the slightest beginnings of tears shine in Hanzo's eyes. He blinked slowly, then closed his eyes. McCree glanced down at the man's meagre covering, then to his wardrobe, then back to Hanzo.

It wasn't cold anymore, granted. Even so, it couldn't be much fun having nothing but a tatty, old serape to throw around your bare shoulders after a long, and presumably painful, transformation...

An idea sprung to his mind.

"You don't have to go around wearin' that old thing all the time, y'know." McCree gestured to the worn red serape around Hanzo's body. "I've got spare clothes if ya ever, uh, need them. Jus' come to me and get 'em, I don't mind."

Hanzo looked back to him, a thoughtful look upon his features. A smile grew on his face. Slowly, he nodded.

"Thank you," he quietly replied.

"No problem." The cowboy ambled over to the large wardrobe, carefully easing open its doors. Thankfully, the moonlight filtering through the window was, again, sufficient as a light source. With its help, he picked out a simple black button-down shirt - barely worn - and a simple pair of denim jeans. Probably a size or two too big for his companion, he knew - but they were better than nothing. He stepped back, moving to his chest of drawers, from which he withdrew a simple leather belt. Laying everything on the bed, he paused for thought. Unfortunately, procuring a clean set of underwear seemed out of the question for now - the very thought of sharing his own enough to disgust him, and most likely Hanzo, too. He shrugged, mentally resolving to buy some tomorrow.

"Hope you're okay dressin' like a cowboy," he said to the man. He walked back to the open wardrobe, fishing out a spare pair of worn-looking boots. "'Cause it's all I got for now. Sorry to say I can't quite get you _everythin'_ ya need right now, though - unless ya don't mind sharing underwear."

McCree saw Hanzo grimace.

"I'd rather not." Somewhat hesitantly, he joined McCree beside the bed. He stirred a hand through the pile of clothing, before picking up each garment individually and scrutinising it under the moonlight. "These will be... adequate, for now. Thank you, Jesse."

"No problem." McCree looked on as Hanzo placed the last of the clothes down, satisfied. "I'll go get a bag for these, an' you can bring 'em back to the field. Jus' make sure you stash 'em some place secure though. I don't want them gettin' lost, or anyone else stumblin' upon them."

The man nodded. "I understand."

McCree simply gave him a nod. Swiftly, he turned and made for the kitchen.

A few moments later, he returned to the bedroom, black bin sack in hand. Without another word, feeling Hanzo's eyes upon him, he opened it up and tossed in the bundle of clothes. Securing it with a knot, he lifted it. It was heavy, yes - but hopefully, it would carry the weight. He handed it to Hanzo.

"Here ya go. All yours."

Ensuring that the serape would hold in place, Hanzo pulled the garment together in one hand. Stretching out his other hand, he took the bag from McCree.

"Thank you."

Without another word, he moved to the window. He looked to the open gap, remaining still for a few more moments, as if he were pondering deeply. Almost dramatically, the light breeze ruffled his hair and rippled through the serape around his shoulders. There was silence. Save for the cowboy's heartbeat, growing increasingly louder in his ears, the night was deathly still, as if it were waiting for Hanzo's further action.

He wasted no time in deciding. As McCree looked on, he effortlessly lifted the sack of clothes in his left hand and pushed it through the window. It landed with a soft _thud_ beneath the window sill.

He heard Hanzo sigh.

"Good night, Jesse. Sleep well."

McCree smiled. "Night, Hanzo. See ya in the morning."

The man gave a nod, before turning once more to the window. Effortlessly, he pulled himself up onto the frame with one hand and swung through the gap, dropping to his feet without the serape so much as unfolding. McCree shook his head, letting out the softest whistle. He would never quite get over that. He stood, watching silently, as Hanzo disappeared into the night, clothes sack slung over his shoulder.

At least, McCree though, the next time Hanzo showed up, he would look a little more presentable. More than presentable, even. McCree smirked to himself, an image of Hanzo in his black button-down shirt involuntarily entering his mind.

If he was being completely honest, he couldn't wait to see it.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hanzo smiled._

 _Raising his head to the dawn, he let out a soft huff. In the calm light of the summer morning, the tendrils of mist were only barely visible. He paused for a moment, simply taking in the gentle warmth of the sunlight across his back. With a soft shake of his mane, and a flick of his tail, he bowed his head once more and nibbled at the green grass below._

 _It was strange, he mused. Strange how things turned out sometimes. Never, not in his wildest dreams, would he have imagined this as his life. While his previous wild life - one which now seemed aeons ago - was, at times, less than ideal, he had thought it his only choice._

 _When he considered all that had preceded his new life with McCree... it only became all the more incredible._

McCree.

 _Again, the grey horse smiled - or, at least, as close as he could manage to one in his current form. Swatting away a pesky fly, he moved forward, chewing on the juicy grass._

 _He had never imagined that such a kind man could touch his soul in such a significant way. He was no wild horse, true - not in the purest sense, anyway - but even so, it took time, and effort, to trust in those not like himself. Shape-shifters were not taken lightly by most. At best, they were ridiculed for their ability; at the very worst, killed. Yet, McCree... he didn't even seem to care. Never once had he declared Hanzo's ability as strange, or unnatural, or frightening._

 _Never once had he treated him any differently to the other horses._

Never once, more importantly, had he treated him any differently to a normal human being.

 _The horse continued smiling. A feeling, warm as the rising summer sun, entwined itself around his heart and filled his veins. Unprompted, a tingle snaked through his skin._

 _Already, he couldn't wait for McCree's visit._

 _..._

Arm draped casually over the fence, leather halter and lead rope in hand, McCree smiled as he looked over the grassy paddock before him.

Hanzo stood, happily grazing, right in his line of vision. Still the other horses kept their distance - though, if McCree knew Hanzo well enough by now, that was the exact opposite of a problem. In silence, the cowboy looked on. Every little movement, no matter how insignificant, caused a feeling of fondness to entwine around his heart. Every step forward, every swish of the long black tail, did not go unnoticed.

McCree's smile grew. Hanzo was a happy creature, indeed. For now, at the very least.

The sunlight practically bounced off of Hanzo's sleek coat as he continued peacefully munching on the grass. His dark mane, now quite long, fell gracefully across the far side of his neck and down past his face. There was no doubt about it, McCree found himself thinking. Hanzo _was_ beautiful - but, even so, he was not above needing a good brush and clean. A _thorough_ cleaning at that, not just the average rub down before and after exercise. Though he wasn't necessarily _dirty_ \- it wasn't at all likely Hanzo had engaged in much typical horse behaviour - a good currying of his coat and brush of his mane and tail wouldn't go amiss.

Plus, it _was_ a good excuse to spend the day with Hanzo.

McCree couldn't help chuckling quietly to himself. He couldn't wait to see how _this_ would go.

Nimbly, not bothering with the gate, he hopped the fence and entered the paddock. He took a few steps forward. Hanzo had not yet noticed him.

"Good morning, Hanzo."

McCree's eager call was greeted with a short whinny. Hanzo, ears pricked forward, now looked intently in McCree's direction, still chewing on a tuft of grass.

McCree smiled, waiting for any further movement. To his surprise, Hanzo stood stubbornly in place, making no visible effort to move. Swallowing the grass, he stood still, intently watching McCree.

McCree's smile shrank.

"Well, are ya comin' over, or what?" McCree tilted his head, gesturing to the gate behind him. "Come on."

He gave a few encouraging clicks of his tongue. Evidently unimpressed, the horse let out a loud snort, before turning his head and lowering it to the grass once more. A dismissive flick of his tail told the cowboy that he had no intention whatsoever of following.

McCree shrugged. Of _course_ Hanzo had to go and make things difficult on him. A change of approach, it seemed, was in order. He stood, waiting, for a few more moments, before walking confidently towards the horse.

Sensing his approach, Hanzo raised his head once more. Several paces away from him, McCree stopped. Smirking just a little, he placed a hand into his pocket and fished out his trusty packet of mints, now almost depleted.

"Oh, I know what ya want. Is it... this?" He placed a single mint onto the palm of his right hand, and stretched it towards Hanzo. "Come on, Hanzo. Come get it."

The horse raised his head once more. Shaking his head, and sighing in defeat, he walked over to McCree's outstretched hand. McCree smiled as Hanzo gently lipped the sweet off of his palm. Ever so carefully, he brought his left hand, with halter and rope, to Hanzo's head, and snugly fastened the halter under Hanzo's chin.

"Good boy, Hanzo," he softly said, giving the horse's face an affectionate stroke. Taking the rope securely in both hands, he pulled on it gently. Eagerly, with a spring in both their steps, horse and rider walked towards the stables.

McCree couldn't help but smile.

Though Hanzo, by now, was no stranger to McCree's rigorous grooming, he softly huffed appreciatively at each stroke of the curry comb. McCree paused, ducking his head to the left. His smile widened. Hanzo's eyes were half-closed, his bottom lip drooping in a relaxed gesture.

"You're likin' that, aren't ya?" he quietly asked, prompting another sigh. Taking that as a yes, McCree said nothing, and resumed brushing.

It didn't take long to loosen all the dust and loose hair from Hanzo's coat. Stepping back, and reaching for the bag of grooming supplies beside him, McCree paused. He brushed a hand down his shirt, causing a flurry of light grey hairs to fly loose. Grabbing the softer-bristled body brush, he made a mental note to throw his shirt in the wash later on.

Unlike the curry comb, which required some degree of vigour, the softness of the body brush enabled McCree to take his time. Slowly, gently, though still giving his all, he rubbed it down Hanzo's neck. He paused. In the midday light, the mustang's brand practically shone bright white against the steel-grey dapples. McCree tentatively reached out a finger, and settled it on the first symbol, tracing over the angular mark.

His finger had barely cleared the first symbol before it was pulled away. With a displeased grunt, Hanzo threw up his head, and pulled his neck out of McCree's reach, his ears now dangerously folded back.

"I know, I know." McCree withdrew his hand. Of course. "You don't wanna be reminded."

He should have known better. Sensing McCree's withdrawal, Hanzo's ears returned to their friendlier resting position. McCree breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to shake off the feeling of foolishness that crept up on him, he hastily resumed brushing his way down Hanzo's belly, then down to his flank and hindquarters.

Reaching the horse's hindquarters, he paused. He smiled as his eyes fell upon the top of the horse's rump. Where stark red and pink lines would have once marred the shiny dapples, now in their place stood their ever-so-faint ghosts, the thin white lines barely visible. He couldn't resist stretching out a finger and settling it upon the longest line. It was incredible, he thought. Hanzo had come so, so far from the scruffy, depressed mustang he had found on that fateful night - and not just in his present form. Resuming his work, McCree's smile increased.

Hanzo had been so strong, even in the face of adversity, and McCree would be lying if he said he wasn't damn proud of him.

It didn't take long for McCree to finish with the brush. Finishing up Hanzo's right side, he stepped back, admiring the fruits of his work. Though Hanzo had, of course, appeared surprisingly clean before, now his coat positively gleamed in the sunlight filtering through. Once more dusting himself off, McCree scraped the brush off on a spare stable door, ridding it of any loose hair, and returned to the bag of supplies. This time, he fished out the purpose-bought mane brush, as well as a small bottle of detangler.

Although, on second thoughts...

Placing the spray bottle at his feet, McCree gingerly reached out and placed a hand into Hanzo's long, sleek mane. It was just as soft as he remembered; just as similar in look and feel to Hanzo's own human hair. Long, too. It had grown so much in the past few months; with the very tips now reaching the bottom of Hanzo's neck, it was nothing at all like the scruffy mess he had started out with. McCree smiled. It was... beautiful. Slowly, he trailed his fingers through the dark strands, checking for any knots or tangles. Not that there were likely to be any, he knew, but better to find them now, than to catch them on a brush later on.

With Hanzo's mane longer than ever, McCree couldn't help but wonder how he would now look in human form. Continuing to run his fingers through the silky strands, it was again hard not to imagine them as human hair. If only they were, McCree thought. Oh, just how he longed to do that...

McCree spent several more endless moments idly stroking his fingers through the horse's mane, before another quiet huff snapped him out of his trance-like state. He looked to his right, to Hanzo's face. Once more, the look on his face described nothing short of pure contentment.

McCree's heart softened.

 _Cute._

"It's gotten so long, Hanzo," he said quietly, letting the ends of the mane slip through his fingers back into place. "So beautiful..."

Hanzo gave a low whicker in response, presumably tickled by McCree's compliment. Smiling once more, McCree retrieved the bottle of detangler, before spraying a generous amount into the horse's mane.

With the hair dampened, the brush glided effortlessly through the strands. McCree was right - there had been little need for detangling after all. Taking the mane piece by piece, he took his time to carefully brush out the horse's long, soft mane, withers to poll, top and underneath.

He stood back, admiring the result of his labour. If it had been beautiful before, the mustang's mane now appeared positively radiant in the soft barn light. McCree smiled. Reaching once more for the bag of supplies, he fished out the packet of small plaiting bands and a comb.

There was little need for braiding, when Hanzo's mane appeared naturally flat and tidy anyway. Surely Hanzo wouldn't mind it too much, though. If there was one thing that both looked beautiful _and_ helped tame a long mane, braids would be it. Not wishing to dwell on this further, McCree got to work. Combing aside a section of Hanzo's mane, he deftly wove it into a simple plait. Moving his way up the mane, he repeated the procedure, until the horse's mane lay neatly against his neck in a series of eight regularly-spaced braids.

Moving on to Hanzo's forelock, McCree positioned himself in front of the horse's head. Pushing the long lock of hair into the middle of Hanzo's face, he took it in his hand.

 _Only one more braid to go._

Nimbly, his fingers worked at the hair, once more creating an intricate plait. McCree smiled. He was right. Hanzo _didn't_ seem to mind -

He was unprepared for the swift nudge that followed. Before he knew it, he had fallen backwards into the stable door behind him. Pushing his hat out of his eyes, he looked up. Hanzo gave an amused whinny, throwing back his head as if he were laughing. McCree smirked, then full-on laughed himself. If _that_ wasn't typical of Hanzo. He picked himself up off the ground. Dusting himself off, he walked back over to the horse.

"Oh, Hanzo," he said softly, stroking Hanzo's nose. The forelock braid still mostly intact, McCree reached up and quickly finished it, tying it off. "Jus' what am I gonna do with ya?"

The horse gave another soft whicker in response. McCree moved his hand back to Hanzo's nose, where he was met with the velvety muzzle being gently pushed into his open palm. For a heartbeat, he simply gazed into the animal's deep brown eyes.

"Ya really are somethin' else," he whispered, after a few moments. "Never change, Hanzo. Never change..."

Pulling himself reluctantly away from Hanzo's entrancing gaze, he moved down to the horse's long tail, once more taking up the hair brush. Taking the tail in his hand, taking care to stand out of the way of Hanzo's rear hooves, he started brushing his way through the ebony-black strands.

He was greeted by the firm stamp of a hoof. McCree looked up. The horse's head was turned towards him, a strange, almost human, look in his eyes.

McCree paused, then chuckled to himself, remembering what he had just said.

"Unless it's into human form, of course." Still smiling, he glanced around, double-checking the others weren't within earshot. "Ya know what I meant."

"Hello, Jesse."

Though Hanzo's nightly visits were, by now, a regular occurrence, McCree couldn't help but stare.

Gone was the familiar red serape favoured by the man to preserve his modesty. (Not a bad thing, McCree thought; at least it _was_ now back in his possession.) Instead, McCree's black button-down shirt now graced Hanzo's chest and abdomen; top button loosened just enough for the tiniest fraction of the man's tattoo to peek through. On his legs, Hanzo now wore a pair of faded blue jeans; on his feet, a spare pair of brown leather boots. Altogether, it was a ravishing look. The last night, McCree had never imagined that all his cast-off clothes could combine to form.. _. this_ , yet here Hanzo stood, proving him wrong.

His heartbeat quickened.

"Hey there, Hanzo." He tried to sound casual, in spite of the annoying yet all-too-familiar heat which crept into his cheeks. "Lookin' good, if I may say so."

Hanzo froze, halfway between the window and McCree.

"...Thank you." A quiet chuckle punctuated his words. McCree felt his heart soar.

It wasn't much, but it was the happiest he had heard Hanzo since they had met.

"No problem." McCree gave a wide smile. Involuntarily, his eyes moved from Hanzo's face to his long, dark hair. It was now just as long as his own; slightly longer, even. And inexplicably... _wavy._ McCree stifled a chuckle. Of course. The neat braids he had woven into Hanzo's mane earlier must have stayed put after his transformation; evidently, he had only just pulled them out. Oddly, though, it was not a bad look. He still, more than ever, longed to trail his fingers through the soft strands. Doing it to a horse's mane was one thing, but what he wouldn't give to do it now...

"...Jesse?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you staring at?"

McCree blinked, rapidly averting his eyes. Instead, they drifted down to Hanzo's shirt and jeans. He had been too enraptured by the man's stunning appearance in the moonlight a few moments ago to give it much thought, but on further inspection... there _was_ quite a sizeable height difference between them. Though Hanzo had regained a lot of muscle since they had first met, and though he had a similarly well-built frame to his own, McCree's shirt appeared to almost hang off of the man's broad shoulders, the ends of the jeans obscuring half a boot each.

"Nothin'," he replied, looking back to Hanzo's face. At least, he thought, Hanzo looked mildly amused this time; had it been several months before, he would have looked virtually displeased. "It's just... those clothes are a bit... big, ain't they?"

"...Hmm." Hanzo's brows furrowed. Intently, he looked down at the shirt. Taking a piece of the fabric in his hand, he turned it around, twisting it this way and that, before letting it fall back against his skin. "I suppose you are right. But unless you have anything better to offer, they will simply have to do."

McCree frowned. Sure, they _were_ flattering on him, but surely he deserved better...

"Not if I can help it," he said, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Hanzo raised an eyebrow, confused, before McCree continued, "Sure, they're all _I've_ got, but there's absolutely nothin' to say ya can't get some fresh new clothes of your own, Hanzo."

Hanzo glanced around the room, his eyes darting past McCree to the wardrobe behind him, then to the door, then back to McCree.

"But how? I can't let myself be seen in this form, Jesse. You know that." The man paused. "It would be foolish for me to consider even _trying_ to achieve any more human luxuries than is practical right now."

He let out a sigh. Once more casting his gaze to the floor, he lowered his head, his thick dark hair falling across his cheek and obscuring his face from view.

"I... I feel so stuck, Jesse. I still feel so trapped..."

McCree's heart twisted as Hanzo's words sank in. Hanzo had been through so much - perhaps _too_ much. Being positively _imprisoned_ , not just once but _twice_ , then being forcibly enslaved and treated as not only an animal, but _property_... there was really no telling how deep Hanzo's scars ran. Metaphorical _or_ otherwise. Not all, it seemed, could be treated with some antiseptic lotion and bandages.

Still, it had been foolish of McCree not to realise that, no matter how much comfort he could give the horse while in the appropriate form, the fact still stood - Hanzo's human life had not, and possibly _would_ not, ever be the same since.

It couldn't be much fun being a horse all the time. Even a well looked-after horse.

There was no doubt about it. Hanzo still deserved better. Much, _much_ better.

Before he could stop himself, McCree reached out and gently pushed a lock of hair out of Hanzo's face. The man looked up, as McCree gently laid a hand upon his partially-clothed shoulder. Surprisingly, he did not even flinch. Hanzo's skin was pleasantly warm and soft; beneath his palm, McCree could faintly feel the pulse running through Hanzo's veins. A fiery tingle simultaneously snaked its way through his own skin at the close contact.

"You're not trapped, Hanzo," he began, in a soothing voice. "You're safe here. I know it mustn't be nice sometimes, bein' stuck as a horse. But if there's one thing I'd really like for ya, more than anythin'... it'd be for you to feel more human again."

Despite the knot of pity still palpable in his throat, he managed a small smile.

"You deserve nice things, Hanzo, an' I'll be damned if I don't give them to ya. So, tomorrow... how's about we do some shoppin', just you an' me? Go to the nearest town, and buy ya some nice brand new clothes and, I dunno, other stuff you might need?"

There was a pause. Hanzo momentarily looked away, as he considered McCree's offer. For a brief moment, McCree wondered if his invitation had been too forward. Instead of a dismissive frown, however, his invitation was met with a smile. An eager smile, even. The man's face creased up in a way McCree had never seen before - his cheeks lifting, his eyes practically sparkling in the moonlight, as he once more met McCree's gaze.

"Thank you, Jesse. That would be nice. But..." Hanzo's smile vanished. Anxiously, he looked to the open window, then back to the cowboy. "...How am I going to leave this place? I can't have anyone knowing who I am."

McCree smiled, already prepared for that question.

"You're a fiery wild horse, ain't ya?" His smile turned to a confident, almost playful, smirk. "How fast can ya go?"

A virtual switch seemed to flick on inside the other man's head. To McCree's delight, Hanzo's smile returned, as he nodded slowly.

"Then I will go. Consider it done." To McCree's surprise, Hanzo extended his hand. Ignoring the ever-annoying flush of heat that prickled at the back of his neck, McCree reached out and took it. A gentle yet firm shake followed.

"I will gladly take you wherever you request," Hanzo continued, firmly looking McCree in the eye. His expression had again grown more serious, yet this time, without any trace of coldness. "Provided you get up early enough."

McCree chuckled.

"Of course, Hanzo." Regrettably, the man had unclasped their hands. Instead, McCree let his arm fall back to his side, unsure what to do next. All he could do was smile. "I can jus' tell Ana and Jack an' the other folks that I've gone out ridin'. That ain't a problem. Ain't exactly a lie, either."

Hanzo nodded.

"Very well."

McCree watched as Hanzo turned on his heel and walked towards the window. The swish of the serape, folded carefully around his body, was replaced by the slight sway of his loose jeans. Try as he might, McCree simply couldn't tear his eyes away, utterly transfixed by the movement of the man's shapely legs and hips.

 _Damn it, McCree. You got it bad._

"Hey," McCree called, keeping his voice low. Hanzo looked over his shoulder. "I'll get up extra early for ya, give ya a good cleanin' up before we hit the town. Say..." He glanced at his bedside clock. 2.45, as per Hanzo's usual visiting hours. As it stood, he had but three hours of sleep, at the very _least_ , remaining, but consequences be damned. Hanzo damn well _needed_ this. "...Say, 5.30 or so? Gives us both time for breakfast, then we can get ready an' go. How's that?"

Hanzo nodded, still smiling.

"It sounds wonderful." He paused, looking up at the open window. The faint night breeze ruffled through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He threw a smirk in McCree's direction.

"I look forward to it."

All McCree could do was nod.

"Sleep well, Jesse. Get some rest."

"You too, Hanzo," McCree replied, as Hanzo gripped the edge of the window frame. Just as before - though faster with both hands available - he wasted no time in flipping himself over and through the gap. He cleanly landed, knees bent, on the other side. Before walking away, however, McCree saw him throw another glance over his shoulder. Without thinking, McCree raised his hand, waving goodbye. Acknowledging the cowboy with a nod, Hanzo turned and disappeared around the corner.

McCree exhaled, long and slow. Awkwardly, he rubbed at the back of his neck. Just as he had thought - it, too, felt afire. And not through pain, either.

Withdrawing his hand, walking back to bed, he shook his head. Rolling back under the light blankets, he took the alarm clock in his hands and set it for the designated time.

Placing it down, he contentedly flopped down onto the pillow, closing his eyes.

It wasn't a date. Not conventionally. But even so, it was damn close.

He couldn't wait.


End file.
